


The Horned King

by ThisBirdWithoutACage



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Fae & Fairies, Forced Marriage, Human Beast (Over the Garden Wall), Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wirt learns magic, Witches, more or less
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-04-18 14:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisBirdWithoutACage/pseuds/ThisBirdWithoutACage
Summary: No one had ever laid eyes on the Horned King and lived to tell the tale.Towering over their village was his castle, bleak and devoid of any life. No one ventured in it unless they were very brave, or rather foolish. Some said that low lives lived there; that his castle was the last strong hold between the peaceful world and the world of the low lives who delved deep within the mountains across the lake. Some said he was a god among mortal folk whose power protected them. Others, and this was most of the village, said that he was a demon who would snatch lost children and anyone else who got in his way.To Wirt, he was just a figmant of the imagination. Until the villagers decide to tie him to a tree one night to satisfy the damn beast.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So...guess who just watched the Black Cauldron? *Raises hand sheepishly* Okay, so while not a great Disney film, it did have elements I liked. It was dark, and oh boy do I love dark things. Plot wise, it could have been better. It's based off a book series called the Chronicles of Pyrdain, which I do remember reading as a kid. Vaguely, though, so I'll have to reread it when I get back to the states. 
> 
> Anyways, so I thought the Horned King and the Beast shared some similarities *cough, some, cough* and this stupid plot bunny wouldn't leave my head. I kid you not, it won't leave. So here's the first chapter of my new story. I have no idea where this is going, but here you go. 
> 
> I also have to apologize in advance for Human!Beast. I'm sure some of you don't like it, but I don't have the talent to write smut with a tree and a human. Sorry. Also, this world is not like our world. It mirrors our world in a way that it has similarities but not the same geographically. So I left the world as medieval but still having things like lanterns that are fueled by oil. Okay?
> 
> So without further ado, enjoy!

No one had ever laid eyes on the Horned King and lived to tell the tale.

Towering over their village was his castle, bleak and devoid of any life. No one ventured in it unless they were very brave, or rather foolish. Some said that low lives lived there; that his castle was the last strong hold between the peaceful world and the world of the low lives who delved deep within the mountains across the lake. Some said he was a god among mortal folk whose power protected them. Others, and this was most of the village, said that he was a demon who would snatch lost children and anyone else who got in his way.

To Wirt, as he lay in the flower field holding a red poppy flower, believed that the Horned King was a figure of the imagination and used by mothers to scare their children into submissive behavior. There was no such thing as the Horned King. If he never left the castle that stood high above, then where did his supplies come from? What gave him the right to rule their village if no one had ever laid eyes on him.

If the elders of the village heard him say something like that, they would surely tie him to a tree in the forest and let the wolves eat him. Not that he ever would; he valued his life thank you very much. He would never go against the words of the elders or speak up in front of the village. He wasn’t brave; he was no hero. Nor was he a coward though, at least, he didn’t think he was anyway.

No, he was simple. Ordinary. Nothing special and he was okay with that. Perfectly content to live a normal life in the village. Void of any trouble or thoughtless frivolity. He didn’t need to play hero when swords didn’t suit him anyway. Give him a book and quill so he could write poetry, or a clarinet to play music with.

His life in the village was completely uneventful. He woke up, did chores, ate breakfast and went to school with his younger brother and sister. They went home to do homework and then ate dinner with the family before retiring to bed. It was a routine. It was normal. It was his life.

Of course, he was almost done with schooling since he was almost eighteen. He would have to take up a profession in the village, just like everyone else. He would most likely end up being a librarian or working in the fields along with his step-father. Everyone had their part to play and he was no exception.

It was on this day, as he lay in the fields, that something did happen. Not right away, but his life was ultimately changed forever. If he believed in fate as his mother did, he would say that destiny had been thrown into motion. That a single meeting had decided his fate.

Which was complete utter nonsense.

“Wiiirrrttttt!” a voice broke out in the peaceful silence and he opened his eyes at the intrusion. He slowly sat up, rubbing his sleepy eyes and looked around for the voice. He noticed his younger brother running towards him, their sister not far behind trying to catch up on her small toddler legs. His younger brother, Greg, shouted once more, “Wiiirrrttt!”

“Yes, Greg?” he asked patiently, looking more attentive than he had been a few moments ago. His younger brother plopped himself right in front of him, their three-year-old sister settling herself in his lap and looking up at him with dark eyes. He pulled her long hair from out of her face, gaze never leaving his little brother’s. “What is it Greg? You’re not in trouble, are you? Because I’m not bailing you out this time.”

The nine-year-old had the gall to look offended. “I have done no such thing, brother mine. Look, I found a frog!”

He lifted the green amphibian into the air, as if it were some sort of god that needed to have its virtues extoled. He stifled a laugh, their sister looking at him as if she knew what he was thinking. “I don’t know if mom will let you keep it.”

“Don’t be silly, mom will love Jason.”

“What.”

“Jason, his name,” Greg grinned broadly. “His name is Jason Funderberker.”

He scowled, which went unnoticed by Greg. Jason Funderberker, the very name tasted sour in his mouth. His rivalry with the boy had started ever since elementary school, when he took his spot at the lunch table next to Sara, the most beautiful girl in the entire village.

He smiled bitterly at the thought of her. Like him, she had been different in appearance. Her family came from a faraway place, like his mother’s family and they had bonded over it. He closed his eyes, thinking of her warm chocolate brown eyes and soft midnight colored hair. Her skin had been a rich shade of coffee brown that most didn’t see. Her father was the silversmith and her mother made beautiful shawls and other fabrics with intricate designs. She was his best friend, and he didn’t even get to say goodbye.

She wasn’t dead, or at least, he hoped she wasn’t.

Her parents had engaged her to Jason Funderberker, son of the village leader and strategic wise, it was a good move. Times had been hard, and her parents wanted what was best for her. So, the wedding had been planned, the end of May was when the woman of his dreams was to be married to his arch nemesis.

Except, she never made it to the alter. A month ago, the flowers had bloomed early and she with a bunch of other maidens in the village went to go collect them. He hadn’t been there that day, but her mother had been with her. A rider had swept through the fields, scaring everyone and when he rode by her, he had reached an arm out to take her with him before riding off into the mountains, where no one dared to venture.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for girls and young women to be kidnapped. He had the stories from travelers in other villages. Girls of marriageable age kidnapped by vagabonds and other ne’er-do-wells. It happened to boys too, but most often to the girls. It rarely happened in their village despite being so near the mountains but until recently, he rarely paid mind to it.

At the mention of Jason’s name, Greg uncharacteristically frowned. “Jason’s not a bad guy, Wirt,” the younger boy said boldly, dark gaze unwavering. “He didn’t want to marry Sara either. He’s in love with Madeline.”

How Greg knew these things, he didn’t want to know. He seemed to know everything that happened in the village. “It doesn’t matter,” he brushed the conversation away, turning his gaze back towards their sister. “What do you have there, Yin Wei?”

“Flowers,” she waved her small toddler hand in the air, waving the daisies she had collected. She held them to him. “For mommy.”

“She’ll love them,” he smiled at her, making his way to his knees and standing up, placing her on his hip. He bopped her on the hose gently, grin widening as she giggled. “Mom loves daisies, and she’ll be happy you brought them to her.”

“What’s that?” she had lost interest in what he was saying, pointing towards the direction of the mountains.

“What’s what?” he asked, looking in her direction. “I don’t see…”

He didn’t see the figure at first, eyes scanning the vastness of the mountains. Everything seemed normal. There was snow on the mountain peaks, the bodies varying shades of gray and black. Nearby was the forest constantly covered in a thick blanket of mist. Then of course, were the fields full of flowers and other crops that they were currently growing.

He realized, as he gazed at the mountains, that there was a figure coming towards them. A black dot that seemed faraway but brought a sense of trepidation as it kept coming closer. He set Yin Wei down, glancing back at the thing. “Greg, you take Yin Wei home, okay?”

“But-“

“Greg, take Yin Wei home,” he sharpened his tone, narrowing his eyes at the younger boy who simply gulped and nodded his head. The small boy took the smaller girl by the hand, quickly running back in the direction of the village.

He took a breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. More than likely it was nothing, probably an animal or one of the farmers coming back from the fields or a day hunting in the forest. However, something wasn’t right. Very few of the villagers owned horses, and none of them looked like that. He wasn’t brave, not by any means. He was a simple teenage boy spending a spring day in the fields with his siblings. He wasn’t a hero, or a warrior. He wouldn’t be able to protect anyone, so sending them home was the best he could do.

He wanted to run, but he couldn’t move. He inwardly slapped himself for his earlier decision. Why didn’t he return to the village with his siblings? What was he waiting around here for? To be kidnapped, or worse, murdered?

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Now he was paralyzed with an overpowering sense of fear that he couldn’t shake off. He was going to die, possibly. Wouldn’t that be his luck? First his father, then the woman of his dreams was taken, and now he was going to die at the hands of some…some…weirdo! Yes, that was a good word! Some ugly, ill mannered thug was either going to kill him or have some perverted idea that he was going to be their husband! A ludicrous thought!

He closed his eyes, trying to use whatever willpower he had to move. Yet his feet remained glued to the ground, mocking him for trying to get away. What had he done to deserve this? Other than being mean to Greg for the first few years of his life, he didn’t think it was karma for that since their relationship had improved so much.

He flinched at a snorting sound and cool breath hitting his face. He opened his eyes to be faced with a horse. He gasped, jaw dropping at the sight of the majestic creature. He had never seen a horse like this, with a pitch-black coat that was well groomed and shone brightly in the afternoon sun. It stared at him with dark eyes, unreadable to him. The only horse he had ever ridden was one named Fred, a skittish creature with a supposedly shady past.

He reached out in spite of himself, wanting to touch the beautiful beast. It eyed his hand, and though he was afraid it would bite him, he couldn’t resist. He touched the muzzle, gently reaching up to stroke the forehead. The pelt felt incredibly soft against his hand, warm from the sun and exercise. The animal didn’t seem to mind, even nudging his hand again when he removed it.

That’s when he noticed the rider. A man dressed entirely in black down from his breaches to the feathered cape draped around his body. The material looked expensive, fine products from faraway that hinted at a small glimpse of lean muscle underneath. Though his hands were covered by leather gloves, he could see the barest hint of skin peeking out from his sleeves and from his neck. Pale like the winter snow and it left him wondering if the man had ever been outside before.

It was when the man jumped off the horse did he take in how tall he was. Possibly the tallest person he’d ever seen, making him feel quite small in comparison. His midnight black hair reminded him painfully of Sara, though it was somewhat wavy and had the bangs pushed out of his face, so he could enjoy his ride. He was handsome, he noticed with a blush, with a strong jawline and hooked nose. His features, sharp and attractive with the most peculiar eyes he’d ever seen. A very pale, practically colorless gray. They reminded him of the moon, or the gray snowy skies in winter. Sharp, piercing into his very soul.

“Hello there,” oh gods his voice had him blushing even harder! A very deep voice that sent chills down his spine. “I hope I am not intruding upon your afternoon. I was wondering if you could show me the nearest way out of town.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” wow, he thought to himself as he continued to blush and stare at the man, real smooth. He cleared his throat, though it sounded more like a cough and pointed towards the east. “If you go that way, past the other side of the forest, you’ll find the fork in the road. It leads to Pottsfield, but that’s a whole day’s ride out.”

“Ah, thank you,” the man smiled gratefully, teeth blindingly white and if he looked closer, he could have sworn they looked sharp. Which, of course, was ridiculous. The man struck out his right hand gracefully. “I apologize for my rudeness; my name is Dante Blackwood. What is yours?”

“Uh, Wirt,” he took the hand, only for this Dante to take his hand and bring it up to his lips. His face burned even more and if this continued, he could possibly faint. Wouldn’t that cause gossip in the village?

“Wirt? That’s an unusual name.”

“It’s short for Walter. It’s, a, uh, nickname I got when I was little. My mom called me a worry wart and I guess I kept saying Wirt so it just kind of stuck…I don’t know why I just told you that.”

The man only grinned, giving a chuckle. “I said unusual, not bad. How long have you lived here, in this village?”

“All my life, I guess,” he shrugged. “My dad was a vendor and he used to do work on ships. He traveled a lot and he met my mom in one of the places he visited. They married, and he brought her here…I don’t know why I told you that either.”

The man only shook his head, still smiling. “No need to be shy, Wirt,” he paused for a moment, studying him further. He then noticed the man still hadn’t let go of his hand. Oh geeze, he was going to die of embarrassment out here. “Tell me,” Dante spoke again, sounding somewhat interested. “Where did your father meet your mother? I don’t find many people who have traveled much these days.”

“Aisa,” he responded quickly. “Apparently it’s very far away. Took him almost a year to get there and back.”

“Yes, I’ve heard it’s far,” Dante nodded, still staring at him with an expression he could only guess was thoughtful. “Your eyes,” he started. “I don’t think I’ve seen a pair of eyes like yours before.”

He wasn’t sure how true that was. His mother’s eyes were a very dark shade of gray that was not even common among her own people. Most of them, she told him, had very dark brown eyes. He, Greg, and Yin Wei had inherited her eye color. Even more unique, was he and Yin Wei inherited her eye shape, though his little sister looked more like her in his opinion. “My mother gave them to me,” was the only response he could give the man, adding a little shrug to feel less awkward.

“Well, she must be beautiful,” Dante said carefully before looking him in the eye once more. “Though I imagine not as beautiful as you.”

He was probably a very lovely shade of tomato red right now. He sputtered, taking his hand out of the man’s. “Really, I’m about as normal as they go,” he had to calm his beating heart; he was not going to have a heart attack in the middle of a flower field! “There are a lot more beautiful people in the village if you would like to go find them.”

“Hmm,” he didn’t sound as interest now, gazing at the rather average sized village with a look he couldn’t quite decipher. “If you say so, then I will have to believe that you have some merit in your words.”

“Uh…okay?”

The dark-haired man looked in the direction of the castle. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he asked, glancing back towards it. “They say a man lives in there.”

“Among other things,” he muttered, but Dante apparently heard that, for he turned back towards him in curiosity. He sighed, wishing he had just kept his mouth shut. “They call him the Horned King. No one’s seen him before; so, no one knows what he looks like. Some say he’s a god in mortal form. Others say he’s a demon. I’ve heard a few call him a ghost.”

“What do you think?”

He was taken a back by the question, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “What do I think?” he asked, Dante nodding without having to repeat. He cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from the intense pale gray one. “Well, I don’t think any of it’s true.”

“Really?” the man asked, sounding astounded and somewhat bewildered.

“Yeah,” he tried to add more confidence it his tone. More than he actually felt right now. “I don’t think he’s even real. I mean, none of the elders have seen him. Not even when they were kids, so it has to be made up. A story to scare people with. Seriously, he’d have to be over hundreds and hundreds of years old. Impossible!”

He didn’t catch the amusement flicker behind those pale orbs, or the smirk on his lips. In a flash, it was gone as though it had never been. “Well, stranger things have happened,” he said vaguely, barely hinting at the idea that he possibly knew something. “You never know; the world is full of mysteries.”

“I guess,” he shrugged. “I guess the castle’s just been there forever, so no one really thinks that much of it.”

“I see,” Dante answered in the same tone as before. He then straightened himself, bowing politely. “Well, I’m afraid I must be on my way. I have quite the journey ahead of me, though your company has been very enjoyable,” he took his right hand again, bringing it to his lips. He laughed at his blush and hopped back on his horse, tipping his head in farewell. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again, Young Lover.”

“What?” he asked as he flushed at the nickname. “What did you just call me?”

“With the way you blush, how could I resist?” the man laughed. “Farwell, Young Lover. Perhaps we’ll meet again?”

“Sure, why not?” he waved as the man took off down the road in the direction of the village. “Have a safe trip!”

He was gone into town, taking the directions he’d given him. “What a strange man,” he said to himself, shaking his head. “Geeze, I must have looked like a complete fool. What was I even afraid of? A man in feather cape? Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“He was totally flirting with you.”

“Damnit Kathleen!” he jumped at the sound of an uninterested voice, whirling around to see the familiar face of his friend. Well, more of Sara’s friend really. She leaned against one of the random trees in the field, blonde hair blowing in the wind and smirk upon her face. He scowled. “He was not flirting.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugged, and stepped away from the tree to hook her arm into his so she could whisper in his ear. “With the way you were blushing, you can’t deny he was attractive, can you?”

When he couldn’t answer her, she cackled manically and ran away as though they were still seven years old and it was May Day, successfully evading every boy (including himself) who tried to steal a kiss from her.

“Vixen,” he grumbled and rolled his eyes. “He was not flirting.”

~

That night, he dreamed of the forest.

Lost in a thick blanket of mist with the tall trees looming over him threateningly. He shivered, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders tighter. The earth felt damp underneath his bare feet and he wondered why he wasn’t wearing shoes on a night that was so cold. An owl hooted overhead, and he jumped, whirling around to find the blasted creature.

He gave a self-depreciating chuckle, “I’m being ridiculous,” he half whispered to the trees, avoiding the hair prickling sensation that he was being watched. “Hello?” he called out, taking another step forward. “Hello? Is anyone there? Greg?”

The only answer he received was the rustling of the wind and the soft stirring of the leaves in the trees. He gulped, shivering again and called out, “Greg? Greg, where are you? This isn’t funny!”

 Yet he couldn’t see anything in the thick fog and the fear was causing his heart to beat faster than it normally would. The wind picked up, blowing the red cone hat to fly off his head and into the darkness. He reached for it, with every intention of going after it when he heard a low, haunting voice from somewhere in the forest.

_“Come wayward souls, who wander through the darkness, there is a light for the lost and the weak…”_

“Hello?” he called out once more. “Hello? Who’s there?”

_“Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten, when you submit to the soil of the earth…”_

“Who’s there?”

The fog dissipated, leaving him with a clear view of the forest and the bright full moon up ahead. He was caught staring into the trees, a pair of glowing bright eyes staring back at him. From the darkness, he could make out a tall silhouette, larger than any human he’d ever seen. With long black arms and horns protruding from its head like some sort of deer.

He was paralyzed with fear, skin gone clammy and cold. “Who…who are you?” he asked, lips trembling at the mere sight of the creature. “What…what do you…want?”

The creature only tilted its head at him and he wondered if it could speak English. They continued to stare at each other and his whole body shook with trepidation. “Are you here to kill me?” he asked softly, pausing to wait for an answer.

The creature, who he thought would remain silent, only laughed. A deep, amused sounding laugh that broke him of his fear. His feet moved without thinking, heading in the opposite way he came. Far away from the creature that was mocking him.

He could sense it was following him, chasing him gracefully through the trees. He was a deer being stalked by a hunter. A hunter that was light on its feet with every intention of catching him. He felt the mist return, clouding his vision so that he didn’t even see his feet trip over the random tree root.

He hissed in pain, opening his eyes to see the most horrifying sight he’d ever seen. A tree, with faces carved into it. Sad faces, mourning the loss of what he dared called hope. From its mouths leaked a horrifying black substance, reminding him of the oil they used in their lanterns at home. He crawled away from it on the back of his hands, attempting to put as much distance from it as he could.

“Going somewhere? I made the tree especially for you, Lover boy.”

He froze at the pair of hands that gripped his shoulders. A pair of long black fingers that felt strangely like wood held his body tightly in place. He felt his heart race, tilting his head up to look into strange multicolored eyes. They hypnotized him, holding him a strange trance that forced him down into a sense of complacency. He wanted to run; to go home but he couldn’t.

“Do you enjoy my gift?” the creature asked, one hand moving to stroke his face thoughtfully. “There’s certainly more to come.”

All he could do was open his mouth and scream.

Which ended up being a stupid thing to do since he suddenly woke up screaming.

He finally stopped when Greg threw his arms around him, petting his hair with his small hands and hushing him. In their shared bed, the boy easily climbed into his lap with his arms around him while the whole house moved about. Their mother and Dave, his step-father, hurried into the room with a small candle in his step-father’s hands. A cry broke out in the room, his sister sitting up in her bed crying from being woken up.

He felt guilty, face glowing red with shame as their mother sat on the end of their bed. She pulled her arms around him too, stroking his hair lovingly and whispering calming words in his ear. He hadn’t had bad dreams since he was a child; he thought he’d grown past that. But the pounding in his chest told him otherwise.

“I…I’m sorry,” he stuttered towards his step-father, who was now holding his little sister in his arms and calming her down. “I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s alright, Wirt,” their mother said, smiling gently and patting his face with a worn hand. “We all have bad dreams every now and then. I’ll go make some tea, would you like that?”

He nodded, their mother kissing his forehead before standing up to head towards the kitchen. Greg hopped out of his lap, looking at him in concern while his step-father rocked their younger sister back to sleep. His heart still beating wildly in his chest, he offered a weak smile to the younger boy. “I’m okay, Greg,” he murmured, patting the boy’s head. “Really, I’m okay.”

“Are you sure?” the boy didn’t look convinced. “You’re really pale.”

“I’m sure.”

Except, why did that feel like a lie?

~

He didn’t have the dream again, and life continued as normal. He didn’t see the man either and for three months, he forgot all about Dante…what ever his last name was.  

On August 26, the Harvest moon rose into the sky, signaling that summer was coming to an end and soon it would be time to harvest the crops grown in the field. Every year when the reddish moon rose into the sky, the town held a festival that took a whole month to prepare. A whole night full of food, singing, dancing and good spirits. Everyone partook in the celebration, young and old. No one was left out.

He and his family were no exception. This year, his mother had caught a wild boar in the forest. She had killed it with a single shot right between the eyes with her bow and arrow, no small feat for anyone. The village was excited, looking forward to eating such a rare delicacy. For all her years as a hunter, his mother had never once caught a creature like this. To say he was proud of her would not do her justice at all.

All the people who cooked helped in preparing the creature to be eaten at the celebration. Everyone would get a piece of the boar to eat that night and he grinned as Greg licked his lips in anticipation.

The main leader of the village, an old woman named Adelaide, honored his mother that day. “Tis a good sign, I should think,” she said with a pleased face, his mother beaming from the praise. “Good fortune will be coming your way.”

He didn’t much believe in fortune, but the way she looked at him was unnerving. A light danced in her eyes, full of greed and lust for power. He had never quite known what to think of the old woman, but now he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. The way she looked at him, almost suggested like she knew something he didn’t. Something that potentially held great importance.

No one would believe him if he told them, so he kept to himself. He helped his step-father and the other men hang streamers and banners around the town, tying decorations of flowers and leaves on the column posts around the village. The whole town smelled of spices and good food, promising another festival that would go off without a hitch.

The day was hot, but by night it had cooled down enough that everyone wanted a bonfire in the village square. As his parents ate and chatted with family friends, he took Greg and Yin Wei by the hands to the center where people were dancing. The three of them watched the couples dance in the square, Yin Wei yawning from time to time, which he put together as her being up later than she normally was. Greg, grinning mischievously, let go of his hand to where a group of three was standing nearby.

He had to chuckle to himself as he watched his little brother go up to a girl with ash brown hair pulled back by pigtails. Katia Petrova, one of the girls in his class that made all of them share secret smiles with each other. For only being nine years old, it was obvious to all of them that Greg harbored feelings for the girl, even if the boy didn’t realize it yet. He took her by the hand, leading her to where the couples were dancing. Her parents shared a smile with each other, watching as her face turned completely pink.

“Here you go, Wirt!”

He flushed, swatting a pair of hands away as something was placed on his head. Yin Wei giggled, and he glared at Kathleen. “Are you serious?” he grumbled, eying the stupid flower crown she placed on his head. “I’m not a girl!”

“Aw, who cares, you look pretty anyway,” Rhonda, Kathleen’s friend laughed. “Come on, Wirt, live a little, would you?”

“No,” he shook his head indignantly, crossing his arms. “I’m perfectly content the way I am.”

“Lame,” Kathleen snorted, nudging him. “Hey, you owe me a dance. As soon as this one’s over, you’re dancing with me.”

His face turned, cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. “N..no, I’m not going to dance with you!”

“Why not?” she placed a hand on her hip, smirking. “Am I not pretty enough for you?”

“Yes! I mean, no, you’re pretty but,” he shook his head, scowling and averting his eyes from her. “I’m not interested.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Wirt,” she rolled his eyes, playfully punching him in the arm. “I’m not interested in you; you’re not my type. But I do love watching your cheeks turn every shade of red.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. But only one dance, okay?”

“Got it,” she snickered before her face turned serious. On the other side of the bonfire, they could see Jason Funderberker talking with Madeline, his own face an unusual shade of pink. He narrowed his eyes, hands unconsciously clenching into fists. Kathleen noticed this, and she sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Wirt, you know Jason was never interested in…” she trailed off, eyes looking sad for a moment. “Wirt, Sara’s not coming back.”

“She’ll find a way home.”

“Wirt,” she sighed again, shaking her head. “She’s not coming back.”

“She will.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, but her hand remained on his shoulder. They watched the flames burn up towards the night sky, making the moon appear even redder. The stars twinkled next to it, winking down at them as if they were sharing a joke. Kathleen pursed her lips, the two of them finally noticing that Rhonda had left to go chat with another young man. She tucked a strand of lose blonde hair from her face. “Wirt, I don’t think you knew this, but Sara…”

She was never able to finish her sentence. An ear-splitting shriek broke through the music and the dancing, where everything halted. For a moment, there was a strange silence that fell like a hush over the crowd that had gathered for the celebration. He felt Yin Wei press closer to him, arms wrapping around his leg. A woman rushed forward, recognizing her as the tavernkeeper, who was now frantically waving her arms around. Her bonnet fell lose from her dark hair, allowing black curls to spring forward and over her face.

“It’s him!” she shrieked, pointing in the direction of the south. Everyone’s gaze followed her towards the direction of the castle and he felt his mouth go dry. She looked so pale, so scared that he immediately wanted to give her a hug. “It’s the Horned King! He’s coming for us all!”

There was a strong silence that followed, immediately broken by a few coughs and doubtful laughter. Adelaide stepped forward from the table for the elders, waving a dismissive hand towards the younger woman. “Nonsense,” she said shortly, raising a thin gray eyebrow. “Bettie, what has gotten into you? You know the Horned King has never left his castle; he has no reason to.”

Bettie, the Tavernkeeper, had the nerve to glare at the old woman. “I saw lights flicker inside the old castle! Then the foulest of things crawled out along with some green smoke. I could have sworn he was raising the dead!”

Adelaide laughed cruelly. “Perhaps you’ve been at the wine bottle again, Bettie. Don’t you think it’s time you lay off it?”

The dark-haired woman went as red as a beat, taking a step forward with her hands tightened into fists. “Listen here you old witch,” the smile from Adelaide’s face dropped, her leathery features turning into a nasty scowl that almost reminded him of a witch. Bettie stood her ground, looking around at everyone. “Listen all of you! We need to get out of here! Into the forest!”

“But Pottsfield is a whole day away! If he’s raising the dead, they’ll get us in no time!” a man cried out, the blood draining from his face.

Katia’s mother, Mrs. Petrova, nodded her head and patted the wheel chair she was bound to. “He’ll catch the old and sick first,” her voice quivered with fear, pulling Katia into her arms and clutching her tightly. “He’ll get the small children too!”

Murmurs broke through the crowd, people immediately searching for their loved ones to decide on what to do. His mother and step-father made their way over and he noticed a steak knife clutched in his mother’s hands. Yin Wei wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and buried her face into his shoulder. He felt Greg take his hand and a rush of ease fell over him. If the Horned King was back, he would at least have his family to stand by with him.

“Now see here,” Adelaide called out, successfully hushing the crowd and capturing everyone’s attention once more. “There is no Horned King. He’s not back, so there’s no need for all this fuss. Let’s just go back to our celebration and-“

Her sentence was cut off by a loud noise that sounded like a horse. Out from the darkness of the southern end of the forest, a rider on a black horse made their way out towards them. Greg whimpered at the sight of it, face gone paler than normal and the child hid his face away from the rider. As he stepped into the square, people immediately threw themselves out of the way. Parents held their children tighter, a few men and women even brandishing weapons at this point, like his mother. Yet no one broke the eerie silence. He wasn’t even sure if anyone was breathing.

It was a sight to behold, he had to admit, and the roaring bonfire made the black rider look like some demon from hell. The horse snorted was bigger than any horse he’d ever seen and a voice in the back of his head could have sworn he’d seen it before. Like a distant memory or dream.

The rider was a terrifying vision. Dressed in all black, allowing no skin to show. Underneath the feathery black cloak was black armor that gleamed in the firelight, allowing everyone to see the menacing looking sword strapped on his right. The most horrifying thing, however, was the mask that covered his face. Black as his clothes, it held two large horns that resembled antlers on a stag and his eyes glowed silver through the object.

He felt his breath hitch. This, this was the thing he’d seen in his dreams a few months ago! There were some differences, but the mask and cloak gave it away. Greg stared up at him the second he noticed him shaking, eyes widening as if he knew. Which, if this were any other time, he would scoff at and shake his head.

Adelaide had turned a sickly shade of green. She, along with the rest of the elders, bowed. “Great Horned King,” she started, voice nauseatingly sweet. So unlike the rest of her personality. She didn’t look him in the eyes, but the way she spoke to him sounded as though they’d met before. “We welcome you to the village. Please, how may we assist you, oh Beast who sings in the darkened night.”

The Horned King didn’t remove himself from his horse. His masked face scanned the crowd of villagers, as though searching for something, or someone in particular. People backed away, a few whimpering and the sounds of a few children and babies broke out into cries. Yin Wei whimpered into her father’s shoulder and thank fully, Greg remained quiet for once, staring at the king with such boldness, it made him almost proud.

Until those blinding eyes fell in their direction.

He rode towards their small family, people parting to stay out of his way. His gaze never wavered, staring at them as if he wanted to take their souls. He saw his mother hold the knife even tighter, ready to bring it into an offensive position if need be. He wished he had her courage, but he could only stand there in fear while holding Greg’s hand tightly.

He stopped right in front of them, sliding gracefully off the creature. He stepped towards them, boots thudding on the ground below as he sauntered slowly. His gaze never left his, holding him in a strange sort of trance that he couldn’t step out of. Within mere seconds, he was in front of him. He was forced to realize how tall he was, much like the stranger…

No, this couldn’t be the same person; it was impossible!

And yet…

He jumped when a hand touched his face, forcing his head upwards to meet his soul piercing gaze. His mother hissed something and brought the knife forward, only to have the king grab her wrist. The knife fell from her grasp and he felt nauseated by the sound of her wrist snapping. Greg broke the silence, crying out at the pained sound their mother made. The king looked down at him, Greg staring back with bold determination and an unusual anger not seen very often.

The king stepped back, looking at them once more before he mounted the horse. For the first time since crashing the party, he spoke out in a low, haunting voice that sent more alarm bells ringing in his mind. “The boy will be mine,” he pointed in his direction, and an icy shock of fear fell over him. He backed up, Greg immediately taking his hand. No one could tell what the king’s facial expression was since the mask obstructed their view, but he imagined he was grinning sadistically.

“You will bring him to the forest tomorrow night,” the king continued, turning his horse in the direction of the castle. “Fail to do so, and the consequences will be severe.”

He shook the reigns, the horse snorting and moving in a leisurely pace towards the castle. They watched him go, like a shadow disappearing into the darkness of the forest. As he disappeared, he felt over a hundred pairs of eyes land on his body. He felt as though he’d been drenched in the lake, for he shook as though he had a chill.

“Grab him!” someone shouted. “Or he’ll kill us all!”

He was suddenly shoved behind his mother, who was now using her unbroken hand to hold the knife that had fallen to the ground. “You’re not taking my son!” she hissed, motioning for Dave to take him by the arm. “To hell with what the king wants!”

“How will you fight us with a broken wrist, Xiāng líng?” Adelaide sneered, stepping away from the elder’s table with a strange pair of scissors in her hands. “Would you put the lives of everyone in the village for a simple child?”

“I’ll fight you with my teeth if I have to,” his mother ground out, eyes like cold steel against the fire in the background. He knew she had to be in a lot of pain due to the paleness of her face and the way her broken wrist trembled. Her left hand was steady, ready to strike if need be. “Slicing up meat is my specialty. Anyone who wants to challenge me, be my guest.”

She was the best hunter in the village; could they really afford to lose her? He could tell many of the villagers were thinking the same thing, seeing how they hesitated to move forward. Adelaide glared at her with cold fury, and he wondered if they had always disliked each other to the point of threatening murder.

Of course, why was he thinking about that instead of running?

“Wirt, get out of here,” she looked briefly over her shoulder at him, motioning for him to go towards the houses. “Move it!”

“Mom-“

“Do as I tell you to!” she snapped as a few armed villagers stepped closer. “Move it! Go!”

“Come on,” Greg pulled at his wrist, eyes wide with fright. “Wirt, come on!”

He wasn’t brave. He wasn’t the love-sick hero people teased him about being sometimes. He’d never done anything brave, or heroic in his life. Whatever the king wanted him for, he had no idea, but he knew one thing. He wasn’t worth all this trouble. He wasn’t worth his mother risking her life for him, nor was he worth the unshed tears in his brother’s eyes. He, like everyone else in the village, had a role to play. If it was to be the king’s prisoner, or slave, or whatever it was he wanted, then so be it.

Perhaps, it could be considered courageous, if he really wanted to look at it that way. He would sacrifice his normal, mundane life so the village could keep living on. He wasn’t worth all this trouble, but if that’s what the king wanted, so be it. He would play the part; squish any sort of feelings he had away. No one had ever really cared about what he wanted before, so why should they now? He was used to being treated as a pawn; as a decorative doll forced to smile on.

“Mom,” he gave her a watery, forced smile that caused her to freeze. “Mom, it’s okay.”

“Wirt! No!”

“Mom,” he said more forcefully. “It’s not worth you dying over. I’ll go. Maybe he just wants a servant or something?”

Her lip trembled, eyes glossy with tears she would neve shed in public. “Wirt,” she reached out towards him, only to have one of the men grab her by the arms. “Wirt! Don’t do this!”

 He let the elders grab him, their old worn hands grabbing at his clothes. He watched as his parents were surrounded by the villagers, reaching out towards them. “Mom, Dave!” he called, tears slipping down his cheeks as he heard his sister cry. “Greg, Yin, I love you!”

“Wirt?” he heard Greg call out. “Wirt, where are you?”

“I’m fine, Greg! I’ll be okay!”

“Wirt!”

It was the last time he heard his brother as the noise from crowd grew louder and louder until they disappeared from sight and he was shoved in the small house where they held court. Over a dozen pair of eyes studied him, each one holding different emotions. Pity, anger, and sympathy were many of the ones he saw. Yet the gleam in Adelaide’s murky blue eyes suggested something that made his skin crawl.

“My boy, you should feel blessed,” she smiled as if he were child again, full of sweetness that a grandmother would carry. Only hers made him feel sick. She stroked his face, ignoring his flinch. She suddenly frowned before striking him across the face, his mouth opening from shock. She sneered. “You should feel honored that he’s chosen you, boy. It’s not everyday a king such as himself desires a bride.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't everyday a bride is tied to a tree.

The situation brought forth an experience he had when he was eight.

The girl who lived next door to them was getting married that day, and he had tagged along with his mother to help with the procession. It had been terribly dull since he was eight and a boy who had no experience with cosmetics and dresses. He was the only boy there, surrounded by older women and other girls the bride’s age. He remembered shooting his mother, who was six months pregnant at the time, looks of exasperation each time one of the young girls giggled at something one of their friends said. Which, she would only smile at him with a look that said to be patient.

The seamstress had two roles in the village: to make dresses for the women and to have artisan hands crafted for wielding cosmetic brushes to paint their faces with. She had pinched his cheek the moment she arrived, teasing him about his own wedding day that him flushing and everyone giggling.

Now, Adelaide had snapped her fingers and called for the old woman to come and prepare him for his “special day”. Something he had never really agreed with doing in the first place, but he doubted any of the elders cared about his opinion in all this. So for the whole day after the party, he sat in an empty room with only a couch, mirror and table to keep him company as the elders arranged for his departure.

The seamstress had grown older in the years that followed. He’d heard she was getting ready to pass her title down to her daughter, but she had still arrived minutes after Adelaide had summoned her. Her dull gray hair pulled back into a tight bun and scowling fiercely at Adelaide. As he sat in an empty room upstairs, he heard her grumble about this inconvenience and immediately felt his face grow hot with shame.

“They only gave me a day to prepare; I’ve never in my life had to prepare for a wedding this rushed! I’ve dealt with fussy brides and their even fussier mothers, but this? To have a bride ready on the day her fiancé’s proposed? Ridiculous!” she paused in her ranting to smile at him tenderly, patting him on the cheek like a grandmother. “Not that I blame you, dearie. I saw everything that happened last night.”

“What about my family?” he asked abruptly, moving her hand away from his face. “Are they…”

“They’re under house arrest for the time being,” the seamstress sighed, shaking her head sadly. “They’ve been ordered to not leave the house, lest consequences should befall them.”

He scowled.  “Why are they so afraid of Adelaide? She’s just some batty old woman!”

“Now mind you, it’s best to keep thoughts like that to yourself,” she wagged a finger at him, but her eyes shone with a playful gleam. “Least you want her to overhear them and trust me, she will make your life miserable.”

“I don’t see how,” he snorted, rolling his eyes and slinking further down into the couch. “I’m being forced to marry some guy I don’t know and if I don’t, he could possibly kill my family.”

“Well, there’s that,” she tilted her head thoughtfully. “But you must have done something very special to catch the eye of our king. This is the first time we’ve seen him in a very long time.”

He snorted again. “All I did was give him directions. That’s hardly a reason to want to marry me.”

She smiled softly, heading over to her basket to dig through its contents. Slowly, and carefully, she pulled out expensive looking bottles imported from countries he hadn’t even heard over, taking out various cosmetics that he had no idea of their uses, only that they looked completely foreign. By the door, another large basket was sitting by the frame, holding what he could only guess was his wedding dress. She stepped back to him again, cupping his face gently in her worn, wrinkled hands.

“I helped your mother on her wedding day, to your father,” she added quickly, noting his initial confusion. A finger traced all the way up to near his eyes were, but she was tender about it, a look in her brown eyes that reminded him of parent telling an old, long ago story. “She was young, about your age and terribly anxious. She was faraway from home, away from her family and the life she had. She knew she would never return to her country again. She cried for over an hour and I barely managed to console her.”

He swallowed thickly, averting his eyes from her. “She doesn’t like talking about dad,” he stated softly, opting to stare at the blank wall. “She told me she was incredibly nervous on her wedding day, but I didn’t know she cried. The only time I’ve see her really cry was when dad abandoned us. For a month, she couldn’t get out of bed.”

“I remember hearing about that. Your father” her eyes flashed with anger, shaking her head in disapproval. “He should have never married her if he wasn’t ready to settle down. Worse yet that she had no way of returning to her country. Tis a good thing your step-father, Dave, managed to mend her spirit.”

A sudden knock on the door made him jump and the seamstress pull away abruptly. Adelaide opened the door, glaring at them. “Why isn’t he getting ready yet?” she snapped, lip curling into a sneer. “Not planning an escape, are you boy?”

“No,” he muttered.

“Good,” then she turned to the seamstress. “You have one hour till sunset.”

She slammed the door so hard the mirror shook and wobbled in its place. The seamstress sighed, muttering something incoherent under her breath and walked back towards the brushes. She gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t doll you up too much. I think a more natural look might make it a bit better.”

He didn’t say anything, allowing her to put some slick sort of jell in his hair to push his bangs back. It smelled weird, like some lilac or perhaps some jasmine. She rubbed a similar smelling oil under his neck down his throat to where chest heaved up and down steadily. He felt something poke at his face, a brush with black liquid that dabbed at his upper eyelid.

“Eyeliner,” she answered his question without him having to ask. “Just to bring out a bit more of your eye shape. You really do have beautiful eyes.”

“Thanks.” He said flatly and was tempted to roll his eyes at her chuckle.

“No need to sound so disheartened, I was only speaking the truth,” she chided as the brush continued to decorate his eyes. “They reminded me of silver mirrors. Of how their reflection dances through them. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Fantastic.”

“Oh hush! Learn to take a compliment from a lonely old woman”

Lonely? Hardly, she had a loving husband, four children and twelve grandchildren to dote on living under one roof. Not what he would call lonely, but on the other hand, he knew what it was like to be surrounded by people and still feel alone.

She touched his lips with a weird waxy like substance that made him wrinkle his nose. “Lipstick,” she confirmed. “But only a faint shade of pink, nothing too drastic I promise.”

“I’m a guy, and most guys I know don’t wear cosmetics!”

“Oh please, tons of young men wear cosmetics,” she tisked, and while he knew that was true, he had never seen any man in the village wear the stuff. “Plus, you’re about to become a queen. Don’t you want to be a beautiful queen?”

“No, I’d rather not.”

“Just think of this, and take a grain of salt with it,” a tap on the cheek made him open his eyes. For once, she was serious, staring into him unwaveringly. “If you please him, just imagine the power you’ll have. You could have anything you want: Riches, fine materials, even those poetry books you like to read so much,” a smile tugged at her lips. “Think on this, you could even convince him to let you return to your family. Now does that sound so bad?”

Her words hit straight home, and he stared up at her with wide eyes. “If I please him?” he asked, wondering how on earth he could possibly do that. “How? I…”

“Be kind, do as he says and be grateful,” she listed before pausing and adding something that made his whole face heat up like before. “In the bedroom, don’t get yourself worked up. Love making is a key part of marriage. Learn what pleases him the most and take note of it. The more he loves you, the more he’ll be more apt to do what you want.”

“Oh gods,” he turned his face away from hers. “I don’t think I can do this.”

He felt his head being forced up as she rested one hand on his shoulder. Her eyes were like steel, sharp and the playful gleam had vanished. Her voice was just as hard as her eyes, stopping him from having a meltdown. “Listen here,” she half whispered as though she were afraid someone would hear her. “I’ve seen many boys and girls such as yourself get married. Some happy, some not. I can tell which ones will work and which ones will not. This marriage has forced your hand, but only you can decide how it goes. Will it be one of happiness or misery? What will it be? The choice, ultimately, is yours.”

“I…I…” he stuttered, avoiding her gaze as much as possible? Her words rung like bells in his ear, and deep down, he acknowledged she had a point. “I don’t want to make this choice!”

He didn’t want to get married, much less to someone he didn’t even know. He felt the unshed tears brim in his eyes and something cold curl in his stomach. He felt sick, like he was going to hurl any moment. Her eyes softened once more, and she wrapped her arms around him. “It’ll be alright, young one,” murmured, petting the back of his head like one would pet a cat. “I know you’re scared, but we all have choices we don’t want to make sometimes. Life is cruel like that.”

He knew all about cruelty. It had been around him all his life, a reminder of how unfair the world really was. His parents would fight all the time, of things he didn’t really understand. Materialistic things that made his mother desperate to know about. They would fight all night, their words ugly and unkind. They would leave his mother with heavy bags under her eyes and his father gazing longingly out on the lake that led to the sea, as though he could escape from everything.

Would he and this king fight? The thought of it alone made his stomach lurch in anticipation. The seamstress sighed, removing her arms and grabbing a cloth from her apron pocket. “Dry your tears or you’ll smudge all the work I made.”

Had he been crying? Lifting a hand to his cheek, he could feel the warm liquid trail that ran down towards his chin. He took the cloth from her, gingerly dabbing his face with it. “Sorry,” he murmured, nerves still making him feel like he was on pins and needles. “I don’t normally do this.”

“All brides are nervous,” she commented airily. “It’s to be expected. Now, come look at this.”

She took him by the hand, gently pulling him up from the spot on the couch to the dresser. He gasped at the sight and she beamed. The dress was white satin, cool to the touch as he reached out. Around the waist, a ribbon-like chord attached to it trailed the to the ground. The sleeves were attached a little bit below the shoulder, attached to where the underside of his arms would be. The sleeves were thinner than the dress, like gossamer threads that must have taken ages to put together. On the front of the dress, trailing down to the waist line were symbols he was very much familiar with. Golden threads of loops that formed together to form a larger pattern that connected a small similar looped pattern down below.

It was pretty, yet still simple enough that anyone would wear it. He could imagine jewelry with it, a gold or silver diadem or a flower headband. If this were a happier occasion, he wouldn’t mind as much.

“Here,” she broke him out of his observations, resting something on his head. She smiled and indicated him to look in the mirror. A diadem entwined with gold and silver bands dipping to a point on his forehead where small pearl dangled gently. She patted his shoulder. “All brides want to look beautiful on their wedding day. You are no exception.”

He blanched and turned his gaze away from hers, which she sighed at. “Come now, remove your clothes so we can put the dress on,” when he blushed, she rolled her eyes. “I’ve helped constant boys and girls your age get ready. Don’t be a prude.”

“I am not a prude!”

“Then quit talking and get undressed before Adelaide comes in. I’m very certain you would love to deal with her.”

She was right, he shivered at the thought of dealing with the leader of the village elders. He shed his clothes quickly, leaving him only his underclothes. He stripped the white undershirt off, standing mostly naked in the room with an old lady. Destined to be married to a king. When did his life get this insane?

She didn’t waste time in fitting the dress over his head, and through the fabric he could barely hear her mutter about finding a dress that she had on hand that fit his measurements. He flushed harder, not even recalling giving them to her and assumed they took them over night or used previous records.

It didn’t really matter, he supposed, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. He blinked thrice, not recognizing himself for a moment. With his bangs slicked back and a diadem upon his head, he almost looked like royalty. Despite being in such a dreadful circumstance, he almost felt regal. Like a prince, or…

_A queen._

He could almost see it. Dressed in splendid colors, adorned in jewels and a beautiful crown. An adoring husband by his side. Envied and beloved by all, like a beacon of hope towards the hopelessness of all. Yet, it was not to be. The illusion shattered, and the regality disappeared. He was a simple teenage boy, forced into a marriage he didn’t want. A simple boy, not hero or a knight. A boy who liked to be alone, so he could read or sing softly to himself. He wasn’t fit to be married to a ruler, much less one that struck fear and obedience into his subjects. He was weak; he didn’t have the authority to command. He’d make a terrible bride and the king would soon see it. At least, he hoped.

“There you are,” the seamstress breathed, adjusting his hair once more so it stayed put underneath the diadem. “You’re ready. Oh! I forgot one last thing!”

She fished something out of her apron pocket and placed it in his hand, closing his fingers around it. She glanced quickly at the door, hearing the same footsteps and voices that were sounding closer. He looked down at it, realizing it was a vial and looked at her questioningly. She grimaced. “It’s a tonic I sometimes give to brides on their wedding night. It makes it less painful; more pleasurable,” she shook her head, quickly hissing at him. “Hide it! Don’t think for a moment that Adelaide will let you keep it!”

There was a small spot underneath the crossing of the sash around his waist to hide the small clear colored vial. The door burst open, revealing a smug Adelaide and timid looking elders hiding behind her. “Is he ready?” she asked, but it sounded more like a demand than a question.

The seamstress nodded. “He is ready.”

“Good,” Adelaide grabbed him by the arm, twisting the skin underneath in her grip causing him to wince in pain. She smirked, taking his figure in. “He will be most pleased with you. The seamstress has done her job well. Our glorious king will reward me handsomely for this.”

He raised an eyebrow, boldly making eye contact. “Glorious king? You sound like you’ve spoken with him before?”

“Shush!” she smacked him across the cheek, though it didn’t nearly hurt as much as the last time. He still winced in pain, and her grip on his arm tightened enough that it would possibly bruise. “We must waste no time! Come along, boy! George, did you bring the rope?”

“Right here, Madam!”

She sneered. “Good.”

He had witnessed bridal processions before, though he never imagined himself as the bride. People lined the streets, throwing flower petals where he walked and blessing him in voices loud enough that it hurt his ears. The blessings of course made him a nervous wreck, and he did his best to ignore the well wishes of a happy marriage, full of love and friendship, loyalty and the one that made him want to wretch: A house full of children.

Much to his dismay, he didn’t see anyone in his family. He kept his eyes peeled, searching for any sign of Greg or his mother, even Dave for that matter. None of them, however, were there and he found himself feeling terribly alone.

He passed by Kathleen and Rhonda, both of whom gave him looks of righteous fury and pity. Kathleen looked as though she wanted to pull him away from Adelaide. She took one step forward, but her father’s hand held her place. He smiled thinly at her, thankful at least some people didn’t approve of this union.

He found it disturbing that Jason Funderberker shared the same expression as Kathleen. Yet, he made no move to stand up to the old woman. No one did. Not that he blamed them, of course, for even he couldn’t do it.

They traveled pas the village, the sun beginning to past even lower in the western horizon. Deep within the forest, farther than he had ever been before, was so dark that lanterns had to be lit. The elders followed her in silence, keeping their faces. They reminded him of rocks along the shore, smooth and unmarked. Like things without feelings.

“Here,” Adelaide held up her free hand, stopping at a rather odd-looking tree that sent a thousand tremors to shoot across his body. Noticing his tension, her crazed smile grew wider. “This tree will do wonderfully.”

It was the same tree he’d seen in his dream. Sickening to behold, with its intricate and horrified faces carved in. Even the other elders had to turn their faces away, to afraid to even look at it for too long. Adelaide pushed him forward none to gently, causing him to stumble once. She backed him into the tree, motioning over the man carrying the rope. “Tie him to the tree,” she barked the order, ignoring the look of protest on the old man’s face. When he didn’t move right away, she scowled. “What are you waiting for?”

“Well, Adelaide, Ma’ m,” he sputtered, stumbling over his own words as she rounded on him.  He was shaking, eyes barely meeting hers as he continued. “I was thinking that maybe our king will be angry if he sees we’ve tied his bride up to a tree. He might come after us!”

 She scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, George,” she spat, rolling her murky blue eyes. “We’re tying him up, so he doesn’t run away. Do you think our king wants to be here all night just to chase after his bride? Well?”

“Uh…I guess not?”

“Then get a move on!”

George stepped forward, giving him an apologetic smile before wrapping the rope around him. He walked in a circle several times around the tree, the binds becoming tighter and tighter against his skin, pressing him further into the tree uncomfortably. He tied the knot at the back of the tree, stepping away to stand next to the other elders. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“The Horned King will be most pleased,” she said, breaking the silence and forcing his face to look into hers. Her blue eyes blazed with an unholy, power hungry shine that made him feel sick all over again. “Some might ask why he desires a simple boy such as yourself, but I know. Your mother knows. Perhaps if she could see the benefits behind this, she would be under house arrest right now.”

“What about my mother?” he struggled against the bindings, ignoring how the thick rope chafed against his skin. “Tell me!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find out one day,” she said vaguely, sneering at him. “Our king might find you so desirable, he’ll take you up against the tree.”

She laughed at the crude words, the others wrinkling their noses in disgust. She took a few graceful steps away from him, coughing into a handkerchief she pulled out of her apron. “Come now, we must leave at once. This night air is ghastly for my frail health.”

Frail health indeed, he thought to himself, he imagined she was probably over a hundred.

The sun had sunk even lower by now, mostly gone and leaving the forest even darker. He struggled against his binds, looking for something that could at least cut through the ropes. The vial tucked away wasn’t sharp enough and he couldn’t reach it anyway. Around him, the creatures of the night were beginning to remove themselves from their nests. A pair of owls stared down at him from the tree branch of an oak tree, hooting every now and then to each other before opening their wings to take flight.

He could have sworn, as he stood there waiting for the inevitable to take him away, that he saw a group of squirrels with bow ties, but he quickly shook that thought aside. He flinched as a bat flew past his head, making the goosebumps on his arms raise. It was chilly out, unusual for August. The darker it got, the more he realized how cold it truly was. He could barely see anything through the thick mist.  Children could wander in here and get lost for days. He had heard the stories, parents warning their children that bad things lurked inside. Creatures who wanted to eat them, men who wanted to rape them or sell them slavery of all kinds. It was enough to terrify any child.

He stood there, increasingly becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. He had given up struggling long ago, accepting how pointless it was and by the burning sensation on his wrists. His heart beat against his chest with the force of a humming bird’s wings. Any second now, the king would show up in full deathly glory, and he could almost see the pair of eyes glowing inhumanly against his mask.

His thoughts were broken by how quiet the forest had become. The pair of owls that had been sitting on the branch quietly flew away, not even bothering to look at him once more. The squirrels had run back to their nests and even the wind itself had stilled. Everything was as silent as a grave.

“There you are. I knew they would send you here, but I did not imagine them tying you to a tree. How considerate.”

And there he was, stepping out of the mist in the same attire he had met him in. Black feathery cape flowing behind him and pale snow-like skin standing out against the darkness. His eyes gleamed silver and the smile on his face crooked. The only thing that had changed was the silver crown upon his head, glowing just as bright as his eyes.

He stepped closer to him and he averted his gaze away, refusing to even look at the bastard. A gentle hand gripped his jaw, bringing their faces close enough he could feel how cold his breath was. “Your beauty is even more awe inspiring than the light of the stars, my love. I am so pleased that you are here with me.”

“Let me go,” he found himself saying before he could stop himself. He sounded so weak, wishing he had the commanding presence his mother and Greg had. “Please,” he whispered. “Let me go.”

The king frowned, obviously displeased by his lack of enthusiasm. “I am afraid that is not possible. You belong to me, Young Lover,” the frown was soon replaced with a smirk as he scowled in response. The king pulled out a sword from the sheath attached to his side. “However, I can free you from those bonds.”

The sword was brought down against the ropes, cutting them in one fell swoop. He immediately slumped against the tree, rubbing his sore wrists close to his chest. The king, or “Dante”, as he once called him, extended a gloved hand. “Come along, we must not delay any further,” that deep voice purred, willing him to take it. “There is no need to be shy. I will take very good care of you.”

A part of him wanted to snap, to protest and say he was not an object that needed to be taken care of. Then an idea popped into his head, eyes scanning the mist that seemed to be growing thicker with each passing moment. It was daring, stupid even, but he was willing to try anything at this point. “Okay,” he took the hand, allowing himself to be pulled into a strong chest.

He hadn’t realized the horse had been there too, though he figured he should have known. Why would a king walk all this way when he had a horse? With his hand held gently in his, Dante led him over to the magnificent creature, letting go of his hand momentarily.

That was his biggest mistake.

The second his hand was released, he bolted. Running directly into the gathering mist and blindingly hurrying himself towards whatever direction he was heading towards. The mist struck him across the face, droplets of water sticking to his face and hair, giving him the impression of coming out of the bath. He had no idea where he was going, only that he wanted to get as faraway as he could from his would-be husband.

If Dante was following him, he had no way of knowing. The woods were still completely silent, and the thought alone frightened him. The king could be right behind him, somehow knowing exactly where he was going.

Well, he wasn’t going to make it that easy for him. He hid behind a tree, pausing to catch his breath for a moment. The only thing he could hear was the sound of his own beating heard and labored breaths, tired from the adrenaline boost and lack of energy. He needed to find a way back to the village and soon!

He dashed away from the tree, feet decorated in white slippers sliding against the wet grass with a sloshing sound. In the distance, he swore he could see lights, glowing faintly trough the mist. Village lights, or perhaps they were from some childhood story about will o’ the wisps, fairies that would guide him and lead the way home. Or not, they were as mysterious as the forest.

He slipped against the wet grass, falling face first to the ground and muttering to himself about being so clumsy. He was standing up, dusting himself off only to feel something wrap around his waist. He instinctively knew what it was and looked up with wide eyes at the amused face of the king. The horse stooped low enough so that he didn’t have to get off, reaching an arm down to reach around his waist and pull him up into his lap, a hand pressing him close to his chest while the other intertwined into the horse’s reins.

“I think I won this little game of ours,” cold breath hit his face once more, the coil of fear tightening once more in his stomach. The king laughed, the hand pressing him close reaching up to stroke the back of his neck like one would pet a cat. They settled on his hip, his hand much larger against his slight frame and he winced at how imposing it looked. He looked back up at those silver, almost colorless eyes and felt every inch of his freedom disappear with that smile.

“Let’s go home, Young Lover.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the feedback! I greatly appreciate it! Poor Wirt is probably super flustered and scared. Perhaps the seamstress' words helped? Or not? Who knows...
> 
> So, while Wirt is a male, this is a universe where I'm trying to keep as gender neutral as possible. Some boys can wear dresses and no one thinks anything of it. Hell, a bride could be the one wearing the pants and the groom could be in a dress. The point is, in this universe, no one has a problem with it. Wirt was just fussy because he probably has never worn a dress and with the situation, can you blame him for being cross?
> 
> Plus, children in the old days would wear dresses till a certain age, so I don't see what the issue today is. Oh no, it's destroying his "manliness" oh no...*snorts* what bs
> 
> Anywho, to not sound like I'm fishing for comments, I will ask that you do so. Feedback is what keeps stories going. Leaving kudos and bookmarks, while appreciated, doesn't really give much to the writer. We work just as hard as artists do, so we want to know what people think. I am by no means perfect in this, but I understand the frustration at times. I know this fandom isn't very big, but each comment is appreciated. I know some writers who have given up on their amazing stories because no one was commenting. It is seriously disheartening because writing is something I and many others have done since we were kids. 
> 
> Sorry for the rant, I didn't mean for it to stretch on. I've got some links down below of Wirt's dress and diadem. I am also creating a playlist on spotify, so if anyone's interested, I will make it public. Just say the word!
> 
> Dress: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/4f/75/25/4f752505e4b82200e249f7bd191ba61d.jpg  
> Diadem: http://pre15.deviantart.net/209d/th/pre/f/2013/086/e/f/diadem_1_by_celefindel-d5zgnsa.jpg


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wirt sees the castle- aka. his "new home".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry for the little hiatus, but I promise that I haven't forgotten about this story. I've been busy with work since we're really short-staffed, so I don't get a whole lot of days off. I really want to thank everyone who's been following and leaving comments. There are so many for chapter two and I'm really pleased to see how invested people are! I didn't expect for people to like this so much, so I'm very touched by your comments and followings.
> 
> As another side note, I apologize about the historical inaccuracy. I do love history, so I'm doing as much research on things that I can find. But I still hope you won't mind so much and will continue reading ^^

When he was around six years old, his mother told him a story.

It was the middle of winter and a particularly bad storm hit. Normally their home remained cozy and well protected from the elements, but that night, he shivered despite being tucked snuggly under the covers. The wind rattled against the window pane, a low haunting noise that gave him the impression that some wayward spirit had taken up residence in their front yard.

For once, the inside of the house was peaceful. His father was outside, grumbling on his way out about how much of an idiot their neighbor was for loosing his cows out in the snow storm. He had slammed the door on his way out, his mother rolling her eyes and muttering something in her native tongue. Then she smiled at him and said she would tell him as many stories as he wanted.

All her stories were different, and while the wind howled outside, he was swept up in worlds full of color and adventure that he forgot about the cruel nature of the world outside. Nestled under the covers, she lay on her side next to him, stroking his head affectionately. Softly telling him the stories from her childhood. A story of the twelve animals who competed across a river to earn to become the signs of the years. Weaving together the images of how the first in creation split apart the earth and the sky, eventually settling on the three emperors. He found himself mesmerized, each tale more impressive than the last. Even one as simple as a woman drinking an elixir and becoming the moon goddess.

There was one however, that always clung to his mind like a song he had heard once but could never get out of his head. She only told it to him once, holding him close during the snowstorm and smoothing wayward strands of his dark hair.

“After the woman became the moon goddess, she ascended into the heavens and honored for her sacrifice. Centuries passed, an she eventually became empresses of the heavens. Her mortal husband, after death, was rewarded again for his diligence in honoring her that he was made immortal. Together, they had seven daughters, their little star lights who shone brightly in the heavens alongside their mother.”

“The eldest daughter was the most talented at embroidery. The second could dance with such passion and grace that she outshone anyone who dared compete with her. The third held skill with musical instruments of all kinds. The fourth could paint such beautiful images with her ink brush. The fifth could enchant anyone within range with her voice. The sixth daughter wrote the most inspiring of poems that would bring forth any emotion she desired. But the seventh and youngest daughter held her father’s skill in archery. With her silver bow especially crafted for her by her father, she danced across the night sky like a shooting star, forever unbound and free like the beasts she chased after.”

She paused in her story, smiling down at him. “Not falling asleep yet, are you?”

He rolled his eyes, huffing impatiently and demanding, “What happens next, Māma?”

“Well,” she lifted her dark eyes in thought, as though actually trying to remember. When he was about to protest, she gave him a teasing look and pinched his cheek. “Don’t be impatient, little one. The sisters, though different, loved each other very deeply. It was believed they were once a single soul that split into seven pieces. They always knew how each other was without even having to ask and this closeness furthered that love. Yet, the youngest always strayed away from her sisters despite their protests. Whenever she ventured down to the mortal realm, they followed close behind to protect each other from the most imminent threat.”

He had frowned, tilting his head in confusion as he pondered over the word. “Imminent? What does that mean?”

“Pending, impending,” she corrected, hand pausing on his head. “The sisters had to be careful of the one danger they faced.”

“What was that?”

She had opened her mouth to explain when the front door burst open and he heard his father’s boots thud against the wooden floor. She pursed her lips tightly, shaking her head and kissing him on the forehead. “That’s all for now, perhaps another time,” she sighed, and he swore he could see sadness lingering. “Now go to sleep, little one.”

He didn’t know why he was thinking of that particular memory now. Perhaps it had to do with the idea of sacrifice. Technically, he sacrificed himself willingly to spare the village, but at what cost? He doubted any of the villagers were going to a build a shrine for him any time soon. He wasn’t anyone to remember and despite being chosen to be a bride, had never done anything extraordinary.

Again, he wasn’t a hero.

The ride was painstakingly silent, with only the sounds of his heavy breathing and the footsteps of the horse. It snorted every now and then, as if mocking his thoughts and left him with the impression that he was being judged. Even Dante (if that was even his name), remained quiet. Still pressed up against his chest, he listened for a heartbeat.

Which, much to his horror, there was none.

“Are you a corpse?”

He took in fair amount of satisfaction at the incredulous look that replaced the reserved mask of Dante’s face. Those pale eyes swept downwards to meet his eyes and those lips twitched, as if they wanted to smirk. “What an asinine question; of course I am not a corpse,” he had the nerve to sound offended, and if he were not in this situation, he would roll his eyes. The horse snorted in agreement.

“Well if you’re not a corpse, then what are you?”

The hand holding his hip reached upwards, stroking his face gently. “Now what would be the fun of revealing all my secrets, hm?”

“Never mind,” he huffed and sharply turned his face, breaking free of the soft touch of the man’s gloved hands. He stared at the scenery ahead, but only that entertained his thoughts for so long. “Dante,” he began tentatively, just knowing the man’s eyes were staring into the back of his head. “If that’s even your name, why did you choose me?”

There was a stretch of silence, accompanied by the sounds of crickets and other forest animals hidden by the darkness of the trees. The hand had returned to its previous spot, though now the fingers were idly stroking the covered flesh. He flushed, mortified that he was being forced to sit in such close proximity.

“You intrigue me.”

He wasn’t expecting such an abrupt answer, nor one that sounded so vague. In the two times they had met, not counting his kidnapping only fifteen twenty minutes, he couldn’t think of anything he’d done or said that would have impressed the imposing king. Being awkward and all around clumsy were not traits that people usually found endearing. “How?” he managed to ask in disbelief.

“That is for me to know, and for you to find out,” he chuckled, the sound resonating against his whole body that sent unwanted shivers to shoot down his spine. “And you may call me Dante. I have other names, but this one is most easier for you to pronounce.”

“What kinds of names?”

“Ones your human tongue is incapable of pronouncing,” he chided, and he felt like a child being scolded by his mother. The fingers stroking his hip danced along it, but never went any further down his body thankfully. Dancing against the white fabric like the hands of a musician playing the harpsichord. “You are, I must admit, dressed rather odd.”

He bristled. “What does that mean? You said you wanted a bride?”

“Oh, don’t sound so scorned, you’re still beautiful,” Dante laughed again, and somehow, he knew he was missing the joke. He wanted him, right? So, what was the big deal? “When I said I wanted a bride, I did not think they would take it so literally. Then again, this is Adelaide and she does have an…interesting sense of humor.”

Great, so he had gotten all dressed up for nothing. Only to have his fiancé laugh and mock him. If he wasn’t so embarrassed right now, he might have leapt off the horse. “I didn’t choose to be dressed like this,” he grumbled, feeling oddly tempted to cross his arms. “I get it, I look like a fool. Don’t need to remind me.”

“I never said you looked like a fool. While the dress is lovely, I am afraid it was a rather crude choice on Adelaide’s part. Making my bride wear a long white dress, something he could easily trip on makes escaping rather difficult, does it not?”

He felt his mouth go dry. He hadn’t thought of that, and looking back down at the once pristine dress, he noted it was covered in dirt and grass stains. Utterly ruined and while he didn’t like the circumstances, he felt bad that the Seamstress’ hard work had been a waste of time. Worst of all, Adelaide knew this.

Then, it was a like a flame light up in his brain. The old woman’s name had been thrown around a few times, but he had not taken too much consideration into it. “How do you know her?” he asked. “She seems to know everything about everyone.”

“She is interesting, I will agree,” Dante commented with that same air of vagueness as before. “But I do know she is not to be trusted. Very few of your kind seem to be aware of that.”

His kind. What did that even mean? This man, or whatever he was, made no sense. No sense at all. Like the darkness, it wrapped around him like a blanket of mysticism. No man who sought to be mysterious could ever truly be, something about wanting the attention gave them away. Even the grand entrance the night before, he still kept his reasons to himself. Truly mysterious men kept their motives hidden, allowing the allure to seep through and expand like the vastness of a lake.

It reminded him of a poem he’d written years ago, back when he was still a bitter child just on the beginnings of adolescence. That he was a boat, on an endless black sea. Rowing further from where he wanted to be, and most importantly, who he wanted to be. Those feelings had never truly faded, not in the slightest. He felt even more lost, with an ache in his soul and a feeling as though he had forgotten something. An important thing that he couldn’t describe even if he wanted to.

The damp air wrapped around him like a heavy coat of chainmail as he stared up at the impressive stone structure. In the absence of sunlight, the darkness only slightly illuminated by the moon gave him the impression that no one had stepped foot in the castle for years. A long bridge connected the structure across the lake, disconnecting them from the land to where it sat on a lone island. Through the fog, he could make out its dark silhouette, the mountains hidden away by the night mist. The castle was more ancient than any bone left in the soils of the graveyard. The once smooth rock was pitted and scarred. In the hallowed and ancient site, the trees had seen the centuries blow past in the winds of each season and witnessed the folly of the village’s struggles. Walls stood mute, water awaiting the call of the wind to ruffle and move as molten glass of deepest green. Gray stone rose from the land, unapologetic and bold to defy entrance to those who dared to want to crush it. In the pale light of the moon, were it not for signs of weathering, it was almost impossible to tell how much time had passed.

“We’re here, Young Lover.”

Abruptly yanked out of his thoughts by the horse stopping, strong hands gently lifted him off the creature and onto the soft, wet grass. He stood next to the king, feeling so much smaller compared to the towering figure of authority. The horse whinnied, tossing its head and allowing him to see glimmers of silver streak through the glossy black mane.

Dante took him by the hand, leading him towards the entrance of the macabre castle. He stared in front of it, eyes wide and heart skipping several beats. Any moment now, a giant harpsichord would fall from the sky and land on him, ending any sort of ideas that the king had in mind.

Yet, the harpsichord never came. Instead, the large solid wooden doors opened by themselves, revealing a stone courtyard on the other side. The interior was the same as the outside, with the silver and gray stones aligned with torches that were lit with a deep orange flame that reminded him of twilight. Well kept stone steps led to doors holding a strong resemblance to the front gate. Standing in front of the steps, were two people.

The first was a girl with sallow skin as pale as the full moon. Dark circles lay heavy under her eyes giving him an indication that she didn’t get enough, or any, sleep. The smile on her pale lips matched her dark blue eyes, gazing at him kindly. Her black hair was pulled up underneath her bonnet, not a single strand out of place.

The man standing next to her he imagined was her father. His mouth set in a thin line, accenting the frown lines at the corner of his lips. His face was covered in worry lines, setting his age at about late forties to mid-fifties. He was dressed entirely in gray, thinning hairline the same color. He imagined him to be a gruff sort of man, not someone who told people the truth whether they wanted to hear it or not.

“Welcome back, sire,” the girl curtsied, head bowed. She had the sweetest, softest voice that made his heart ache. He could hear so much of Sara in her voice. Her tone, though gentle, held a slight intonation of mischief. “I see everything went according to plan.”

He flushed at her implication and refused to meet her gaze. Dante nodded towards her, arm still linked with his. “Wirt, this is Lorna and Marcus. Both have worked here for years and will assist you should you require anything. Marcus takes care of the grounds while Lorna keeps the inside clean.”

He frowned, eyes looking up towards the large castle. He then found her gaze, skeptical. “You can’t keep this entire place clean by yourself. Do you even sleep?”

She gave the merest shrug of her shoulders. “The work never ends. Auntie Whispers says it will keep me busy.”

“Auntie Who?”

“You’ll meet her later,” Dante interrupted, releasing his arm from his yet still standing quite close. “Now, Lorna, if you would be so kind enough to show Wirt to his room.”

She gave a slight bow. “It would be my pleasure, sire.”

In the entire little exchange, Marcus didn’t say a single thing. He stared at Dante with a look he couldn’t decipher, something hard and completely unpleasant. The same look he’d seen before, many years ago when his parents were still together. He’d seen it when his mother was angry with his father for something or other. Marcus did not like Dante one bit.

He did not, however, want to find out why.

“Lorna will escort you to your room and find you something more…practical to wear,” he hadn’t even heard Dante speaking to him until Lorna cleared her throat, hiding her smile behind her pale hand. He had probably turned every single shade of red by this point, and that only seemed to fuel amusement in Dante. Those pale lips quirked upwards in a brief smile that astounded both Lorna and Marcus. The girl just smiled again, and Marcus’ frown only deepened. Dante brought his hand up to his mouth, kissing the knuckles that led to long slim fingers. “I shall see you later, my love.”

He released him, only to have another arm link with his. Lorna coughed, bringing out a white kerchief from her apron pocket. A dry, painful sounding cough that immediately gave him concern. He asked her awkwardly, “Are you sure you don’t need a healer?”

Despite the harsh sounding cough, she managed to smile weakly. “Do not trouble yourself, young master, I am well.”

“You don’t sound well.”

“I am well, please do not worry so much about my well-being.”

Her tone though soft carried a sort of firmness that told him then and there that she was done talking. Her hand was cold on his arm even through the thin material of the dress. He glanced down at it, brow furling in distaste. The bottom was covered in dirt and grass stains, and he had a feeling the diadem placed on his head was crooked. He didn’t look much like a bride; more like a clumsy teenager who couldn’t keep a sense of balance.

“We’ll get you out of that soon,” Lorna reassured him and he briefly wondered if she had mind reading capabilities. “It is strange that they dressed you like that. Did they truly take our lord’s words so seriously?”

“You’re asking me?” he couldn’t help the retort as she raised her eyebrows in response. “It’s not like I asked to be here.”

She didn’t respond, but she did purse her lips together and turned her head away before quietly murmuring. “The master is most kind, he won’t make your life unpleasant. He has not stopped talking about you for quite some time.”

He snorted. “I don’t know what he sees; I’m as ordinary as everyone else in the village.”

She gave a soft smile. “Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye. Everyone has their reasons for everything. That’s what I believe, anyway.”

He felt tempted to wrap his arms around himself, a slight shiver running down his body as the darkness of the hallway seemed to allow a draft. The stone walls were dark, dimly lit with tapestries and little to no decorations. It might have been the fact that they were on an island, but the air smelled damp as well. Yet Lorna seemed immune to all of it, taking quiet dainty steps towards their destinations with a sweet smile on her face.

She appeared nice enough, he supposed, but there was something off about her. Something he could not quite yet figure out. As they walked up a set of winding stairs, he caught a glimpse of the outside world from one of the windows. He hoped to catch a glimpse of the mainland, to see the faint golden lights of the houses and wonder if his family was out there. His hopes were dashed, however, when all he could see was thick mist. Clouding his vision, giving him a bleak reminder of how mysterious and uncertain his situation was. He tore his gaze away from the window.

“So…” he started, trailing off awkwardly as her dark eyes glanced briefly over at him. He cleared his throat, voice caught in his throat. “Um, how long have you been here?”

“Oh,” she almost sounded a little startled by his question. She paused, eyes tilting upwards as though she had to think about that question. “Hmmm, I’d say give or take a hundred years. Maybe more.”

“Wha- A HUNDRED YEARS!?”

She winced. “Not so loud please, young master.”

“Sorry,” he stared at her, eyes wide. “It’s just, you do not look old enough to be a hundred.”

A faint, rose pink blush dusted her cheeks and she suppressed a giggle with her other hand. “Thank you,” she said quietly, the smile growing warmer. “I forget my age must seem strange to mortals.”

“Mortals?”

She paled at that question, averting her eyes away from his expectant gaze. She brightened up once more, quickly changing the subject and ceased in her steps. “Oh look, we’re here!”

They had stopped in front of a large door with black scroll engravings on the dark wooden frame. She pushed it open, the doors giving a low creaking sound. He braced himself, body tightening in anticipation of macabre settings. He could see it now: barred windows, blood on the walls and scratch marks, a worn disgusting bed pushed into the corner and worse, torture equipment ready for use.

Instead, there was nothing but warm light. Still attached to Lorna’s arm, they stepped into the room where it hit him like a strike to the face. Compared to the parts of the castle he’d seen, the room had a brighter and much warmer atmosphere. The walls were painted robin’s egg blue with golden paneling engraved with small birds and flowers. The wooden floor was covered with a rug the same color as the walls, taking up almost the entire space of the room. A large window that stood at the far end of the room had a white window seat, with blue pillows fringed with gold. A golden engraved table and chair stood near it, with paper and writing utensils ready to be used.

He felt his jaw drop slightly at the sight of the bed. Back home, he and Greg shared a double bed that didn’t look as nearly inviting as this one. It was larger, the same robin’s egg blue and felt so soft when he sat down on it. He had stepped away from Lorna, previously, taking in the grand size of the room and starting wondrously up at the painted mural of flowers, birds, and fruit on the ceiling. Long fingers delicately moved over the covers, trying to decide if it was made from some expensive silk or not.

“This is,” he said after a long silence, looking to Lorna again. She still stood in the entrance of the door way, hands crossed in front of her and an amused smile gracing her lips. He felt tempted to smile back at her. “This is a lot different than I expected it would be.”

The sound of another door opening took his attention away from the other girl sharply, and he quickly turned his head towards the sound. Towards the table and chairs stood another girl, with deep red hair and a dusting of freckles across her face. Her hands were placed on her hips, staring down at him with skepticism. “This is the boy our king wanted?”

He didn’t know why, but he immediately felt offended. “Who are you?” he asked, not caring if he sounded rude.

“Oh,” Lorna interjected, stepping forward into the room. “Wirt, this is Beatrice. She’ll be your attendant. Beatrice, this is Wirt.”

The way Beatrice looked at him made him feel as though he had done something wrong and was about to be scolded. “I can’t believe this,” she grumbled, rolling her blue eyes. “I have to play babysitter to this kid.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m almost eighteen!”

He immediately didn’t like this girl, and he knew she probably felt the same way. The lightness that had momentarily lifted the grim situation had vanished, leaving him more disheartened and annoyed than before.

~

With a sigh, she lifted the rock and carved another tally into the wall.

For thirty-five days, she had grown uncertain of her fate. She sat in her cell, with only a small barred window letting in traces of scattered sunlight. A musty bed had been pushed into the corner, with sheets that looked as though they had never seen a bucket of water and soap. The room smelled of something she couldn’t quite place, but knew she had smelt something like it before.

Sara closed her eyes, setting the rock down and drawing into herself. She rested her head on her knees, staring out of the caged door. Attached to her ankle was a metal ball and chain, a means, she supposed of preventing her from trying to escape.

She wasn’t alone; that was the only thing she knew. Two times a day a man would come down with bread and water and then leave. Every day was the same: She’d wake up at a certain time of the day, eat the food that had been placed, and then sit and wait. She’d sit on the ground, or on the bed, and wait for something to happen. But nothing did.

Except for one time about a week ago.

She sat there, back against the metal bars when the door slammed open. She had immediately turned around, scooting back out of fear when the man passed her cell. He had walked further down the room, opening another cell where he pulled a trembling girl out. Her blonde hair sticking to her face from the tears as he pulled her by the arm, begging and screaming at him to let her go. He ignored her and dragged her up the small stairs to the door.

She never saw the girl again.

None of the other girls there spoke to her. The two she could see from the cells next to the one in front of her never said anything directly towards her. They would rock back and forth, hands ringing through their hair and were either crying or whispering to themselves. The girl in the cell in front of her neither spoke nor cried. She sat in a corner of her cell, with a pensive look on her face.

She glanced back at the tallies on her wall. What did she have to lose? She wouldn’t deny that she was scared; but the silence was driving her crazy. She missed talking to her parents and friends, but since they weren’t here, she had to settle for someone else.

“Hey,” she leaned against the bars, the girl in the cell across meeting her gaze in surprise. She gave a tentative smile. “Hi, I’m Sara. What’s your name?”

The girl tilted her head, gray eyes hesitant. After a moment of silence and thought, she allowed a polite smile and tucked a wayward strand of ash brown hair out of her face. “Nice to meet you,” she said softly. “My name is Anna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you I had a reason for Sara being missing ;) We will be seeing more of her and why exactly she's been taken. Everything is connected, so be sure to look for certain notes. 
> 
> Ah Beatrice, so annoyed at being a glorified babysitter. Don't worry, they'll warm up to each other soon. I do ship them, just not in this story, so don't worry!
> 
> For the next chapter, we actually won't be seeing Wirt, or at least, too much of him. We'll be back with his family and we'll definitely be seeing that witch Adelaide. It should be up before too long; I promise I won't make you wait for two months ^^'


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Away from the castle, other events begin to conspire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely darlings, I have another update! Unfortunately, Wirt doesn't actually appear in this chapter (I know, I know, my poor babu) but it's important that other characters get their spot in the light. 
> 
> I went back to college on Saturday to start my Senior year. I can't believe I've made it this far, but this semester is going to be busy. I don't know how frequent updates are going to be now that school has started, so for the time being, I'm going to say there might be one every month or every other month. I'll work as much as I can in my down time, but as those who are in school know, it might take a while -_-
> 
> On a happier note, my birthday is tomorrow! Turning 22 and ready to tackle a whole new year of challenges. So this is my birthday update to all of you. Thanks for the comments and kudos! And for the bookmarks too! They are literally keeping me going when I hit roadblocks.

_“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children are gone. All except one and her name is Ann, she hid under the frying pan…”_

Her wrinkled lips twisted into a smile, idle fingers maneuvering the yarn into a new pattern. Across her bedroom were many different strands of yarn. Multiple colors seemingly connected in a strange way known only to her. She hummed contentedly, wrapped comfortably in her quilt and away from the ghastly night air.

_“Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home, your house is on fire and your children are gone. All except one and her name is Ann, she hid under the frying pan…”_

She suddenly frowned, hands pausing in their ministrations. Outside, the night was still. No small animals chattering; no crickets chirping. The forest, which sat near her house, was silent with tense anticipation.

“A storm’s coming in,” she mused to herself, setting her yarn down on the mattress space beside her. She removed herself from the covers and made her way over to the small window that sat across from her bed. She dared not stick her head out, shivering at the mere thought. “The night air is ghastly,” she shook her head. “Terrible for one’s complexion.”

Adjacent from the window stood an oak dresser, worn from years of use and covered with a light layer of dust. On top next to a vase full of dried up lilies, was a hand mirror. It had been passed down to her from her mother, and her mother before her. If she’d had a daughter, she would have passed it down to her, but she would have to settle for her niece the next time she saw her.

The mirror, according to her mother, had been crafted from pure silver. The glass created from a single star that had fallen from the night sky. How much of this was true, however, she did not know since the mirror had been passed for several generations. It would be worth quite a fortune. She supposed this, since there were diamond tear drops added to the roses that had been melded and painted into the silver. Yet she could never part with it. It was as precious as her golden scissors; something she could not live without.

She picked it up, preening at herself while tucking a strand of gray hair back behind her ear. “I was a great beauty once,” she said out loud to no one in particular. “Kings would send ambassadors to me asking for my hand in marriage. Then _she_ had to ruin everything!”

“You? Beautiful? You must be deluding yourself in your old age, Adelaide.”

She didn’t even need to look in the mirror to see who was addressing her. Standing in the open-door way was Xiāng líng, with her ink black hair tied in a low bun behind her head and cold unfeeling gaze in her storm cloud eyes. She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t at least a little bit frightened, but she masked the fear with a smile instead.

“Well, well, Xiāng líng, what brings you to my humble home? Not feeling like you have an empty nest?”

She cackled as the Aisan woman snarled, spitting out something in her native language towards her and unsheathed a hunting dagger hidden away from somewhere on her body. “You better answer me, witch,” the dark-haired woman said darkly. “What does that demon want with my son?”

Despite being held at knife point, she chuckled. “I think it is pretty obvious what he wants,” she smiled at the growing frustration emanating from the other woman. “He’s going to marry him. Why, I can only imagine they’re consummating it right now.”

She sneered at the crassness, watching as Xiāng líng’s face went white. Her sharp eyes dropped to the knife, which had begun to shake only slightly due to the woman’s anger and fear. Her right wrist had been bandaged recently, no doubt the work of her husband and it appeared that someone took an ink quill and drew a face on it. Her youngest son, perhaps, or possibly the daughter.

“You should be grateful,” she didn’t even flinch as those piercing gray eyes watched her every movement. She set the mirror down carefully, mindful of its fragility. She smirked. “He’ll be treated very well for the remainder of his brief, miniscule life.”

“Be mindful that that is my son you are talking about, witch,” Xiāng líng snapped. “Don’t think I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Oh? Will you now?”

The dark-haired woman stepped further into the room, each step calculating and soundless. Not even a floorboard creaked under the weight. On most days, the woman’s eyes shone bright like the moon, but now they shone with a deadly cold. She took the final steps towards her, the tip of the knife resting just an inch from her throat. “I’ve killed for less before; and you’ve taken something precious from me. Now, you will tell me how to get him back, or I will let you bleed out on this floor. So, what will it be?”

If she were anyone else, she might have cried or begged for her life. But she was no just anyone. She simply gave Xiāng líng a smile and uttered a simple phrase. “Release me.”

Xiāng líng gnashed her teeth together in a clear sign of struggle. “N…no….”

“I order you to release me!”

Just like that, the knife pointing at her fell to the floor with a dull, resounding thud that echoed in her ears. Xiāng líng growled in protest. Instead of rolling her eyes, like she normally would have, she laughed. “Oh, you never cease to amuse me, little one. After almost twenty-one years, you still try and fight me.”

“Tell me where my son is!” Xiāng líng cried out, struggling very desperately against the command given to her. “Please, I will do anything! Give you anything!”

She cut her off with a cruel laugh. “Do anything? Little one, I can already get you to do anything I want, and at the moment, there is nothing I desire. And to give me anything? You have nothing else to give me, now do you?”

The silence was answer enough.

She stared at the middle-aged woman standing before her, an echo of a memory dancing around in her mind at the sight of her. If she closed her eyes and indulged herself in the memory, she could picture her again. Young, with clear skin and the silkiest black hair she’d ever seen. Despite being dressed in a tattered, dirty silk dress from her country, she had stared at her with defiant, angry moon gray eyes. For the first time in a very long time, she was envious.

“You gave me the greatest gift of all,” she said softly, reaching out a hand towards the rage filled woman. “Instead of resenting me, you should be grateful. Your son will be his most cherished possession.”

“You bitch-“

“Sit!”

Xiāng líng moved at a speed nearly impossible for humans to move at. The dark-haired woman found herself practically glued to the rocking chair in the corner, back straight and most likely uncomfortable. She sighed and shook her head in disappointment. “Really, little one, after all these years and you still try and fight me.”

“Release me!”

“We both know that will never happen, child,” she chided, wagging a finger like she would a small child. “We are tied, you and I, and for the rest of your life, you will do as I say.”

“You can’t-“

“Can’t I?” she sneered, stepping forward and resting a hand on the dark-haired woman’s pale face. Xiāng líng flinched from the contact, doing everything in her power to get away from her weathered hand. “You have no power anymore, little one,” she took great satisfaction from the hatred in Xiāng líng’s eyes. “And you will never see your little child again.”

There was a pregnant pause, the sounds of the occasional creak in the house the only noise that dared interrupt the silence. Those piercing eyes never left hers, mouth set in a thin line as she stared. It was unnerving, she supposed, and wouldn’t deny that she’d rather have the Aisan woman stare at someone or something else.

“I will get him back,” Xiāng líng spoke suddenly, breaking the silence. Despite being commanded to sit in the chair, she remained resilient on trying to defy the command. “You will rue the day when I break free.”

“That’s nice, dearie,” she crooned, tapping her cheek lightly. “But even if you did manage to break free, I’m not the only one you’d have to worry about, now am I?”

Xiāng líng simply spat a curse at her.

~

She couldn’t get any sleep. From her bed tucked in the corner of the room, she tossed and turned, whining softly. Finally, she threw her small arms out, huffing in annoyance. She turned her head towards the window, gazing at the ever-present full moon in the night sky. Outside, it was too quiet. There were no crickets or small animals chattering to each other. She did not like it one bit.

Her dark eyes traveled to the double bed on the other side of the room. On it, her older brother was curled up on the side where he never slept. He was sleeping on Wirt’s side of the bed. Except, he wasn’t sleeping at all. All day he had been crying, and she didn’t think he had eaten the dinner Dad had prepared for them.

Wirt was gone. She didn’t understand why, but she knew it wasn’t good. Everyone was miserable. Daddy wasn’t smiling; not as he usually was. Greg was crying so much that his eyes had gone all red and puffy. Māma looked like one of the stones she’d found in their vegetable garden one day. Her face smooth, but her eyes spoke of a multitude of feelings.

She huffed again. Everyone was acting all sad and she didn’t know what to do about it. She had tried to get Daddy and Māma to play with her, but they just looked so…lost. She tried to get Greg to smile, but he just started crying again. She felt guilty for that, but she wasn’t trying to make him sadder.

Swinging her legs over the bed, she stood in the room. Her nightgown felt too heavy on her body due to the late summer heat, but that wasn’t her more pressing concern. Sometimes if she drank some water, she’d feel better. She’d have to ask Daddy or Māma to take her to the well to get some, though, unless they still had some in the pitcher.

She tiptoed out of the room, mindful to keep quiet as to not wake up her parents or brother. Mindful to step carefully down the stairs because a few of them tended to creak on the way down. The kitchen was near the stairs, a small room with a table and few chairs. Two tables to prepare food on and a fire place with a spit and pot attached to it.

The fire had died out long ago, and so now all was left were the weak scents of their dinner that still wafted in the air. She reached as high as she could for the pitcher, only to find that it was empty. She sighed in disappointment and made her way back to the stairs. Maybe Daddy or Māma would still be awake and take her to the well.

She was halfway there when she suddenly tripped.

Landing on the wooden floor with an “oomph”, she rubbed her now sore knee and glared at the stupid board. For as long as she remembered, everyone (aside from her Māma) was constantly tripping and stumbling over it. Her oldest brother especially. Yet, they had never questioned why.

She knew that people could hide things in floorboards. In her parents’ bedroom upstairs, there were two loose floorboards that hid money. “In case someone was to try and steal from us,” Māma explained to her one day when she asked. Except, everyone in town seemed nice and she was fairly sure Māma could beat up anyone who tried to rob them.

Forgetting the water, she struggled for a few seconds to pull it off when it finally came loose. She took a few deep breaths, setting it aside and peering down to whatever it was hiding. Through the light of the moon, she could see something shiny. Gold, maybe, she assumed when she reached down for it. Cold and light against her hand.

A key.

She examined it against her palm, staring at it for the longest time. It wasn’t made of gold, but rather some sort of metal. It was as small as her hand, with a rounded top and four characters engraved on it. Māma had begun teaching her how to write things she called “characters”, but she had never seen these ones before. But she knew it had to belong to Māma, and Māma would probably get mad if she somehow discovered she had found something she had hidden away.

She set the key aside, grabbing the floorboard and maneuvering it to where it fit snuggly with the rest of the boards. Not a perfect fit, but she hoped that no one would notice. She picked the key up, holding it gently in her hand and stood up, suddenly remembering why she had come downstairs in the first place.

She was halfway to the stairs when she noticed something off. A dancing light floated at the foot of the stairs, flickering in and out like that of a firefly. She rubbed her eyes, thinking it was merely a bug that had gotten in the house, but it didn’t move at all from its spot. Its light was too big to be a firefly, so it had to be something else.

Wirt had an expression that went, “Curiosity killed the cat”, but this thing wouldn’t hurt her, right? And if it tried to, Daddy was in his room, so he could save her. Māma had left earlier that night. Where to, she didn’t know, and Daddy wouldn’t tell her.

She followed it carefully up the stairs, keeping an eye on it so it didn’t disappear. It pulsated gently, floating further and further up until she made it to the top. It moved silently, flickering with a golden light that seemed to urge her to follow it.

Next to her parents’ room was a small door that led to a little closet. They kept things in there, such as winter cloaks and shoes, holiday items, and other knickknacks.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” she whispered to the flickering light, now suddenly cross. “There’s nothing you could want in there.”

But the light flickered and moved past the hanging cloaks and scarves. All the way to the back of the small closet, it flickered in and out, clearly wanting her to move thing items blocking whatever it wanted to show her. She dug past shoes and cloaks, thankful that they kept the holiday ornaments in boxes tucked away towards the left and right sides of the closet.

She paused every few seconds to make sure no one heard her, despite having to move countless of shoes and other items out of her way. Till she finally had a wide enough space to move into the closet. Past the coats, she could see the flickering orb again, floating over a large ornate trunk.

It was large, coming up towards her chest. It hadn’t been used for a long time, she found herself soon discovering when she sneezed due to a large coating of dust on the top. From the light, she could make out the trunk was a glossy red and smooth to the touch. As she knelt to examine it further, she could make out several figures painted on the trunk. Elegantly dressed ladies with ink black hair and dark eyes like her mother. Their clothes were the biggest clue that the chest belonged to Māma since she had seen her wear a similar outfit. Over each woman was another set of those characters, ones she didn’t know how to read yet.

Near the top was the key hole, and carefully, she took the key and inserted it, twisting it to the right experimentally. There was a clicking sound, and the top of the trunk opened slightly. She pushed it back, surprised by how light it felt and peered down.

There were only two items in the trunk. Two shimmering red pieces of fabric that appeared almost translucent in the light. She reached down in, grabbing the neatly folded fabrics and brought it up closer to the light. It was soft, made of some sort of material she had never felt before. It had unfolded once she held it out, falling to just below her knees. Some sort of jacket, she decided.

She tried it on carefully, noting how the sleeves were wide enough to almost reach the floor. It was comfortable; a perfect fit. She twirled around once, liking the feel of the fabric and had to suppress a small giggle. The material fit like a glove, gentle against her skin and hugging her body in a cocoon of warmth.

Why had Māma hidden this away? She asked herself, stepping out of the closet to see how the fabric looked in the moonlight. Underneath the moon’s light, it shimmered and rippled like a flash of silver over the water. Wearing it felt right, she supposed, sensing as though it was meant to be hers all along.

The glowing light had disappeared, she soon noticed, leaving the whole closet empty. Despite the moon illuminating the hallway, she forgot to watch her footing and tripped noisily over a pair of her oldest brother’s shoes. A light immediately went on in her parents’ room, the sound of heavy footsteps against the old floorboards before the door swung open.

“Yin Wei!” Daddy exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart as though he had just seen some sort of ghost. He sighed in relief, stepping away from the door to where she was at the other end of the hall. “Sweetie, what are you doing out of bed? Are you sick?”

“Nu-uh,” she shook her head, black hair sweeping over her shoulder as she raised her arms to show off her discovery. “Daddy, look what I found!”

Instead of smiling and commentating on her find, his face dropped. His pallor grew almost as pale as the moon outside, hazel eyes widening in some sort of expression she couldn’t quite describe, but knew it wasn’t good. “Yin Wei, you couldn’t…how…” he trailed off, running a hand through his dark blonde hair. “This is not good, you’re too young…what is your mother going to think?”

“Did I do something wrong, Daddy?”

He suddenly dropped his focus back to her, immediately reaching down to sweep her into his arms. “No, sweetie, it’s not your fault. Let’s just get this off you and get you back to bed, okay?”

As he began to move to material off her body, she struggled. “But, it’s mine!” she whined, reaching for it as he tossed it back in the closet. “Daddy, give it back!”

“No,” he said firmly, gently opening the door to her and her brothers’ room. “It’s best you forget about it. That thing brings nothing but trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have to admit, writing Adelaide was pretty fun. I think she's interesting; we really don't know that much about her during the cartoon, but I imagine her to be pretty sadistic and ruthless. She'll stop at nothing to get what she wants and doesn't care who she hurts in the process. What a witch of a bitch. She and Whispers will be pretty different from each other, and I cannot wait to go into further details on their backstory. And Lorna's too!
> 
> The song Adelaide sings is an actual nursery rhyme. Look it up on YouTube if you don't know it and not one of you can convince me that it's not creepy. 
> 
> As for the red jacket Yin Wei discovered, I can't reveal too much right now. It's called a shan and if you look up Chinese hanfu shan, you'll find some of the inspiration I used. Just know that Xiāng líng is not going to be too happy when she finds out. 
> 
> Well, that's all for now folks! Till next time!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante and Whispers chat with each other about the new guest in the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Anon: "Where's the freakin update?"
> 
> *Laughs awkwardly* Yeah, sorry about that. Seriously, I got busy with school for the last few months. I had a huge ass paper that pushed onto thirty pages, and with that paper, I had to create a poster to present to the student body and a power-point presentation. Plus, other schoolwork and two jobs on top. 
> 
> I was burnt out by the time winter break started and to be honest, I just wasn't in the mood to write. No inspiration was coming to me. And to top things off, on New Years Eve, my sixteen year old cousin was in a severe car crash. Shattered her pelvis, dislocated right hip, destroyed her hip joint and a concussion. She was lucky to be alive and I spent time at the hospital to keep her company. So there's another reason why I haven't updated. So for anyone wondering if this is discontinued, please know its not. I have a life outside of fan fiction and that always comes first. If I haven't updated in a while, just know I am probably busy juggling with my school life. 
> 
> I am sorry we don't see Wirt again in this chapter. I was planning to include him, but I decided to save that for the next chapter, so expect that one to be a little longer. I want to write out Beatrice's family, so that would will be full of our favorite bluebird fam. Yay! So sorry this one is a little short! Writing Dante has proven to be hard, but I think he would have the tendency to talk like a gentleman. Despite being a demon who consumes the souls of lost children *Shrugs*
> 
> Enjoy!

A knock at the door interrupted his musings, though he didn’t tear his eyes away from the window overlooking the lake. “Enter,” he stated calmly, not even needing to see who it was. He already knew.

The door opened with a low resounding creak that echoed across his chambers. Slow footsteps entered through, a cart wheeling along with them suddenly stopped as they closed the door. “My lord,” the person, a woman, spoke politely. “I thought you might be tired from your journey. I made some tea for you, if you would like.”

He closed his eyes, allowing for a small smile to show as he turned away from the window. He opened them, pale gaze suddenly landing on the form of his oldest friend. Her large eyes held the wisdom of many ages gone by and for some reason unknown to him, a glimmer of amusement. She was as old as he; though his face did not show it. She carried herself with an air of quiet dignity, much unlike the many who worked in the castle.

“Thank you, Whispers,” he nodded towards her. He stepped leisurely towards one of the chairs of his table set, allowing her to set a steaming cup of black tea near him. He paused, hand resting on the handle before asking. “How is he?”

“Your bride?” Whispers quickly replied, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. At his passive face, she merely shook her head. “I do not know. You’d have to ask Lorna, though I imagine she has her work cut out of her.”

“I am sure they’ll be getting along fine.”

“You seem pretty sure about that,” Whispers arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Beatrice can be…difficult, to say the least.”

He smirked. “Careful, I don’t think you’re niece would be very pleased to hear that.”

“Well, she can’t lie about the truth. As much as I like Beatrice, she does have a tendency to dig her heels in.”

He hummed in agreement, watching absently as steam rose up from the tea and disappeared into the air. It smelled strong, the way he liked it, and the color was as dark as the night sky up above. “How are the preparations coming along?” he asked nonchalantly, relaxing back into the dark velvet covered seat. “I imagine Agatha has completely sequestered herself in the kitchen by now.”

At that, Whispers cracked a smile, revealing uneven blackened teeth. “She’s been in there ever since you announced your plans to marry that boy. We have all been busy preparing for a wedding we were not given proper warning about; would you not agree?”

Ah, so there was the real reason for her abrupt visit. Subtle, he would commend her on that. Not outright asking about his intentions; clever woman that she was. His smirk only grew at the thought. “Of course, it was impulsive to suddenly announce my plans in such a careless manner. I do hope I am not inconveniencing you, Whispers. I hope Agatha and her brood are not terribly troubled.”

“You know very well what the answer to that is,” she had the gall to reprimand him, shaking her head as though to brush his comment away. “Everything should be ready within a day.”

“That is good to hear.”

She had removed the teapot from the tray, pouring a cup of tea for herself before joining him at the table. Some would gawk at her boldness, but he paid no mind. She wasn’t even a servant and currently served as the only other in the castle to hold authority. Well, soon it would be two, but his blushing bride did not seem to realize that yet.

“He’s beautiful,” she commented, catching his eye at the very brief mention of his soon to be mate. “He blushes very easily. Is he-?”

“-Yes,” he cut her off swiftly. “He is.”

“Oh. Well, that changes everything.”

He eyed her for the drop of sarcasm in her tone, and he didn’t have to be a mind reader to know what she was thinking. He simply took a long sip of tea, relaxing his shoulders against the back of the chair. “She never told him anything,” he said once setting the cup down, answering the unasked question. “My bride, and I include his siblings in this as well, are not aware of anything.”

She fixed him with an unreadable expression, dark eyes holding a wisdom that few could ever dream to hold. “I see,” she said gravely. “So, the moon will still continue to search that which she has lost. They shall find no rest tonight.”

He sighed. “And they shall find no rest tomorrow night as well,” he concluded. “There is little I can do about their plight. The lost one brought her own undoing.”

The smile she had the nerve to give him held a tiny hint of suggestion. “I don’t think your bride would like to hear you sound so scorned. From what I’ve seen, he seems to get emotional very quickly, hm?”

He recalled their first meeting back in the beginning of May. Seeing his bride amidst the spring flowers surrounded by a cheerful looking small boy and a small girl in his lap with a bouquet of daisies. When his sharp gaze homed in on them, he noticed the resemblance. Those gray eyes that were as dark as storm clouds one moment and then silver mirrors in another. Ever changing; ever reflecting the mood they were in. He didn’t know just yet, but he would have been a fool not to notice the thrum that resonated like a heartbeat inside him.

“He is definitely like her,” he nodded his head, hiding his smile with his hand. “Yet he is unique in his own experience.”

Whispers tilted her head. “And his siblings, you mentioned a moment ago?”

He nodded once more, briefly shifting through countless of memories to find the images of the children he’d seen. A young boy, no older than nine who looked so much like his father aside from the eyes. A loud child, lively and full of energy that was unparalleled. Then there was the girl, a small child just out of infancy who tended to be much quieter than her older brother. She liked to wander off, he’d noticed, in search of things that perhaps the others could not see.

“Did she recognize you?” Whispers asked suddenly, and he only nodded his head in acknowledgement at first.

“At the festival? Of course, she did, and I must say, the look of shock on her face was most amusing,” he chuckled mirthlessly. “Out of all the ones from her past, that I would be the first one to find her.”

Whispers had the decency to look doleful, if even for a moment. If it was addressed towards her, he wouldn’t be surprised. “Tis a terrible thing that happened to her,” she spoke with a voice full of pity and something else he could not quite place. “And it is a more terrible thing of what will happen next. You know of what I speak.”

He nodded sharply. “They would not move against me,” even if it was arrogance speaking, it was still partially true. “I have more power than they could ever dream of possessing.”

“Be that as it may,” Whispers rolled her large eyes, but a touch of amusement pulled at her lips. “It’s impossible to not notice how bright his light shines. I know you can see it; it’s practically blinding. I could see it from a mile away and whatever lingers in those forests, will definitely spread the word.”

Whispers was hardly ever wrong about things, and if he wanted to make her irate, he could easily pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. But as it was, his bride’s light shone so bright; impossible to look away from. Bathed in starlight, he shone even brighter under the night sky. Pure, untouched, and completely and utterly vulnerable to powers unbeknownst to him.

 And like a starved beast, he desired him.

“It would be best to strike your claim before one of them gets the idea to do it themselves,” Whispers added nonchalantly as she poured herself more tea. “I doubt he would be able to hold them off for very long.”

“There is more to him than meets the eye.”

“Yes, however though,” Whispers sighed, staring into her cup as though she had something weighing heavy on her mind. “The longer he goes unclaimed, the more daring they will get.”

“I hear your concerns, Whispers,” he said smoothly, removing himself from the table to go towards the window that out looked the sleepy village from across the lake, covered by a thin blanket of mist. He could see that lanterns had been lit in a small effort to keep darkness out of their lives. He almost smiled at that. If they truly knew what kind of creatures lived in those woods, well, they would probably never want to leave their own beds.

He glanced over at her from over his shoulder. “Everything should be ready by tomorrow, yes?”

“If Mary and Elizabeth manage to finish his outfit on time. That all depends on if Beatrice will be willing to help them,” she cracked a crooked smile. “Lorna probably will help, if she finds the time. Beatrice has no patience for sewing. But if you ask her to do so, she will.”

“See to it that she does.”

She nodded once more, pausing after a moment’s thought to speak. “There is something else, my lord, that I wish to discuss with you.”

He turned his head sharply at being called “my lord”. She only said it when she was entering a room; only as a formality. Beyond that, they were well past formalities. “Old friend,” he said so softly, like his voice was caught on the autumn wind. “You need not be so formal; speak what is on your mind.”

“It has to do with rumors of a rider scouring throughout the lands.”

Oh, that. He should have figured that was what she wanted to talk about. “What of it?” he answered nonchalantly, with a sigh he knew she most likely didn’t appreciate.

“You know of what I speak,” she narrowed her eyes. “Those girls who have all be taken from their villages. They are in your domain, and I wonder what you have decided to do about them?”

Truthfully, he had not given it much thought. Human women tended to disappear quite frequently due to the desires of men, so he did not give the issue she presented him with much thought, at first. Then he began to hear rumors of a rider dressed in black taking girls every month from villages, always just one girl and then would be gone till his next visit. A few had accused him of taking them. Which, was absolute nonsense; what use would he have of them?

Yet, he could not allow his name to be slandered in such a fashion. Hunting down the rider would be no trouble, and if it would appease the villagers and stop them from spreading such obnoxious rumors, then so be it.

“I will take care of him in due time,” he said, with an air of finality. “Right now, we have a wedding to prepare.”

A wrinkled hand clenched around her teacup, and for a split second, he pondered if she would shatter it into a bunch of tiny pieces just to prove her strength. Her eyes were stormy like the sea, mouth setting in a thin line. “If that rider comes here,” she shivered uncharacteristically. “He will try to take my Lorna.”

“Rest assured old friend, I will not let any harm come upon your niece. Do not forget that since she is under my protection, I would also be greatly offended if harm were to befall her,” he spoke to her evenly, watching as the harsh light in her eyes dimmed and her body eased once more. “Dear friend, it’s not as if Lorna would allow herself to be taken away in such a manner.”

A dark look crossed the old woman’s face. “No,” she said at last, with a long sigh. “No, she would not.”

He came over to rest a hand on her weary shoulder. “You should go rest, old friend. Tomorrow evening shall be a busy one if all goes according to plan.”

“That is only if all the tasks are completed,” Whispers muttered before releasing her hold on the tea cup, pushing her seat back to rise. “I shall go find Beatrice and make sure that she helps once the young man is settled in.”

“I could go see him, if you like,” he added slyly, a slow smirk spreading across his features.

She gave him a halfhearted glare with the barest hint of a smile on her lips. “Oh no you don’t,” she reprimanded, shaking her head as though scolding a child. “It is bad luck for the bride to see his groom before the wedding.”

“I thought that only counted if the bride is a girl.”

“Well I say no, and that’s that,” she said smugly.

He was tempted to roll his eyes and go see his bride anyway, but behind that smile was a warning. Perhaps it was so the young man could adjust? Or was it that she wanted to meet him without him being so nervous of his presence? He supposed it was only the polite thing to do. So, to respect her wishes and keep the peace in his castle, he would refrain from seeing the young man. For now.  

“I must go,” she said suddenly, picking up the teacups and saucers and setting them on the tray. Her smile was softer this time. “I shall see you in the morning.”

He nodded, stepping back towards the tall window near his chair. The lights in the village had dimmed somewhat, like the flickering lights of a firefly as it danced through the night. Like the fireflies that were drawing their last breaths as autumn crept in, so too would the village lights.

~

Moon rose high in the sky that night, her light casting beams that bled onto the world below her. Always full and present, she sat high in the sky as another world came to life under her watch. Sun had left a long time ago, her blazing light dancing off towards the west as she retired from the world. Moon sat quiet in the sky with watchful eyes that informed her of the activity in the world beneath her cold gaze.

Moon splashed down her watery white-silver glow onto the village, bathing them, illuminating them. And in the distance the trees were silhouetted against the deep velvety sky. Animals scurried about underneath her light and the faint sounds of crickets as they carried their melodies in the early autumn night. Such sights and sounds used to bring her joy, but now there was none.

Her favorite stars sat quietly beside her as still as marble statues. Once they had joined her every night in the night sky, joining her with their light and sounds of happiness. Once they had danced across the night sky in glimpses of red and silver, shooting from place to place, never apart from each other. She did not mind when they left her for she could always see them. She never lost sight of her precious stars.

Until, she did.

She had felt loss only once, and never again had she expected to feel its sorrowful sting once more. Seven little lights would dance in the sky every night, giving her laughter and company in her descent across the sky. Seven little lights that were always together no matter where they roamed and then, only six returned to her. Out of sorrow she had threatened to leave her sky and cast the world into darkness until she could find her lost light again. But, in her grief, she knew she could not do that and give everyone under her care sorrow too.

She had stood in the place where her starlight last was, and in her power, scanned the trees and fields for her lost light. Yet through her search, and the sounds of her screams, she could not find her starlight. _Someone_ had taken her starlight away. Hidden her starlight somewhere beyond her sight; destroyed her starlight. Never had the heavens heard such a scream as hers. Never had they felt such a loss as her.

How much time had passed, she could not remember. If she searched through her memories, there would only bring forth the sorrow that had crystallized inside her forever. An ache that was so deep she could scarcely breathe.

Her starlight’s joined in her in her sorrow with their own tears mixing in with hers. For a long time, they would sit up in the sky in silence, ever diligent for that light that would hopefully return to them one day. For twenty mortal years, there was nothing.

Until that night when she saw a flash of red dancing underneath her light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I love Whispers and Dante; I think they would have an interesting friendship dynamic. We'll get into their history later too. See you guys later!

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, poor Wirt, am I right? Dante, you're one suave mother**ker, but if you wanted a date you should have just asked. Just so everyone's aware, Dante is the name he uses. I'm sure he has a multitude of others...
> 
> Normally I give the Beast dark blonde hair, but I decided to mix it up this time. If we can have a hundred different versions of human!Bill, I think we can do the same for our Beast. Still looking for good fan art though. 
> 
> Please note that in my headcanon, Wirt and Greg's mom is Chinese. I don't think we have enough Asian characters, so I intend to fix that. So Wirt, Greg, and their sister Yin Wei are half Chinese. The country in this story that their mother is from is basically Asia spelled backwards. Sorry, I'm not that original and I couldn't find a name I liked.


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